


You cannot save people, you can only love them

by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And More Ghosts, Bars and Pubs, Bottom Draco, Cock Worship, Community: hd_erised, Dirty Talk, Drunkenness, First Times, Ghosts, Hero Fetish, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hung Harry Potter, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Rimming, Talk of dead bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/pseuds/heyitsamorette
Summary: Upon returning for Eighth Year, there are so many strange things going on with Malfoy, Harry doesn’t know where to start. He won’t talk to Harry, but he’s talking to ghosts. He won’t apologize for his past, but the Black Family tapestry has crossed him off its tree. And the worst of it all, he still has that infuriating, snotty mouth on him thatgets Harry’s dick hard as a rockdrives Harry insane.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CieliaValentine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CieliaValentine/gifts).



> Cielia, I was so excited to receive your signup, as our tastes match up pretty perfectly. Writing for you was nothing short of a pleasure. I hope you enjoy this story! Thank you to O who helped me every step of the way and is the best human ever, and to W for britpicking and being an awesome sounding board. Thank you a million times to the mods for being endlessly patient with me when it took me much longer to finish than I thought it would. xx Happy holidays, everyone!

Harry looked around the new dormitory. Everything was so different and that gave him an ache in his chest. What made the ache tolerable was that, at the same time, things were much the same. It might not be Gryffindor tower, but it was still a tower, with rounded stone walls and a high arched window between the two beds. The curtains were thick and drapey and made the room just as cozy, even if they were brown instead of burgundy.

He stepped onto the soft rug as he dropped a load of books onto his bed.

“I’ll take this side,” he said.

“Fine with me,” Ron said, strolling to the wardrobe on the other side. He opened it and grimaced. “Ergh, spiderwebs! I thought they cleaned out this place before we got here.”

Harry chuckled. “Sorry, I wish I knew a charm for that.” He was rubbish at cleaning spells. Or just cleaning in general.

He opened his own wardrobe, pleased to see there were no spiderwebs or any other type of bug or creepy crawler. There was also a writing desk and a chest of drawers by each bed. The rooms were larger than their old dorms because this tower used to house faculty decades ago when Hogwarts had more students and needed more staff. Each room was currently modified with two beds to accommodate the returning students completing their eighth year.

Even though they still had to share a bathroom with the floor, it was certainly an upgrade...if a bittersweet one. Harry was just glad he was still sharing a room with Ron. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Neville was the unlucky one. He got placed with Goyle.

“It’s so weird that the Slytherins are back,” Harry said, unlocking his trunk and kneeling down in front of it. He started to unload the pristinely folded shirts and trousers—Mrs Weasley had insisted on packing for him no matter how much he’d protested that he didn’t want to add to her workload.

“You mean,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow at him, “it’s weird _Malfoy’s_ back.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you mean.”

Harry stuttered. “I don’t care that he’s back. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Whatever you say, mate.” Ron went back to inspecting his side of the room, hesitatingly opening a drawer in his desk like he expected a Boggart to pop out.

“You know, this is getting really annoying. You and Hermione need to find something else to talk about besides gossiping about me and Malfoy.” Not that there was anything to gossip about anyway. There was no ‘him and Malfoy’, there was only the fact that Malfoy had continued to be a huge dick to Harry over the summer despite all of Harry’s attempts to try to be civil. Harry balled up a folded t-shirt and chucked it onto his bed.

Hermione and Ron just had a hard-on about him and Malfoy, and they wouldn’t stop asking Harry how he _feels_. First off, he didn’t feel anything, except maybe supreme irritation, and that was normal to feel about Malfoy. Secondly, one would think two people who just started officially calling themselves a couple would be too distracted with one another to focus on Harry, but apparently not. They really must have nothing better to talk about.

“We don’t gossip,” Ron said, bringing an arm full of hangers over from the wardrobe and dumping them onto his bed. “We’re your friends and we deserve to know what’s going on in your life.”

“I’ll clarify it for you: nothing’s going on. I just did what I thought was right by him, and that’s all. He’s clearly still a prat.”

“I could have told you that.” Ron started to unpack his own trunk, pulling out a maroon knit sweater. He placed a hanger on it and sent it flying into the wardrobe. “What did you expect from Malfoy?”

“I don’t know… Nothing, I suppose. At least… he could have Owled and said thanks for his wand.”

Ron snorted. “The day I hear Malfoy utter the words ‘thank you’ is the day Hagrid brings home a normal, non-lethal pet.”

“He’s such an ungrateful shit.” Perhaps ungrateful was the wrong way to put it. “Not that I want him groveling or anything.” Even the thought of it made him a bit nauseated. Harry got enough undying adoration from everyone in the world, and the last person he wanted acting like that was Draco Malfoy.

Maybe the truth was that a part of him liked that Malfoy never thanked him for anything. Maybe it was refreshing. At the same time, it was also infuriating. The more he tried talking to Malfoy, the more distance it seemed to put between them. Malfoy just kept pulling farther away. Harry had only been doing what he felt was right, but it was driving him insane that the nicer he was to Malfoy, the colder Malfoy seemed to get. Truthfully, it made him feel a bit mad. A bit desperate. Like there was something growing larger and larger inside him each time.

“So he hasn’t even thanked you for his wand, eh?” Ron said as he continued to unpack. “What a tosser.”

Harry didn’t _have_ to give him back his wand. He could have kept it and let Malfoy figure it out from there, go and find another one—which Hermione had said was probably a better idea, considering something to do with wand magic, but Harry hadn’t really been paying attention. The thing was, Malfoy hadn’t responded at all. Not to say a simple thank you, and certainly not to the letter Harry had included in the package.

It had been difficult for Harry to write that letter. At the time, he’d been staying overnight at Grimmauld Place after a whole day of sorting through the items the Order had left behind there; a task which had already been emotionally taxing. And the entire week before had been the Wizengamot trials, which had left Harry feeling like he’d been run over by the Knight Bus. It had been a grueling week, and Harry had found himself alone in the tapestry room after Ron and Hermione had already gone upstairs and the rest of the cleanup crew had Floo’d back to the Burrow.

With a bottle of ale in hand, he had sat at the writing desk and stared at the tapestry, and his eyes immediately searched for Draco’s name. It was baffling not to be able to find it right away, but then he spotted Narcissa and saw the the name underneath hers was blasted away. That should have been Draco’s name. Erased from the tapestry just like Andromeda’s and Sirius’—but who had done it?

Harry had stared at it a long while, frowning at the char mark, his worn out and half-drunk mind unable to think about it too deeply. The only thing he recalled was an sudden urge to talk to Draco right away.

So he pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer, dipped the quill, and drafted about ten letters to Draco that night. The first had been soppy and sad, all about how heart-breaking the war had been and how horrible Harry felt at the trials, and he discarded that one for obvious reasons. The second had a bit more direction, for Harry had been thinking about mailing Draco his wand for a while now and he described that in the letter. But nothing sounded right. It was all too fueled by ale and exhaustion and sounded embarrassingly intimate to Harry’s ears when he read it back. Ten drafts later, Harry simply wrote:

 

>   
>  _Malfoy,_
> 
> _I came to Vincent’s funeral but I don’t think you saw me (A lie, because he knew Draco had seen him but had ignored him)._
> 
> _I tried to speak to you after the trial but there were too many people around and I never made it to you (and Draco was obviously trying to avoid him). It must be difficult to see your father go to Azkaban again, and for your sake, I’m sorry. I’m glad I was able to keep you and your mother out._
> 
> _Here’s your wand._
> 
> _We should talk._
> 
> _HP_

 

  
He should never have written that last bit. It sounded too pleading. A new wave of anger rose up hotly about the fact that Malfoy hadn’t even responded.

Any decent person would have at least said thank you.

The door swung open with a bang against the wall, and Harry was thankfully wrenched from his thoughts. Seamus, Dean, and Neville burst through, hollering their hellos.

“The gang’s all back,” Dean said, hopping onto Harry’s bed.

Harry grinned. “Why are you already wearing your robes?” he asked Seamus, who was the only one of them decked out in school uniform.

“I needed them for transport. Shut the door, Nev.” Seamus parted the drapey black robes and reached into the inside pocket, pulling out a bottle of gin.

“Bring that here!” Ron said. He took the bottle first and uncapped it. After taking a full swig, he passed it, pinch-faced, to Neville. “Bless you lot.”

“I need this today,” Neville said. “I’ve only been rooming with Goyle for about two hours now but I already want a drink.”

“You definitely got the short end of the stick, mate,” Ron said. “I can’t imagine rooming with Goyle. Not only because he’s a Slytherin, but coz he’s Goyle. Harry, you remember when we Polyjuiced into him and Crabbe in second year? Who did who in that?”

“I did Goyle.”

“You two are mental,” Dean said. “You never told us that story.”

“We never told anyone.” Ron chuckled.

“We should each go around and tell secrets,” Dean said. “To mark a new year at Hogwarts. Take a drink, and then you have to tell something you did at Hogwarts that you’ve never told before.”

“Yes! Good idea,” Seamus said. “Let’s start our final year off with a clean slate. Lord knows we aren’t the same kids we were before. Let’s give those kids one last shout, and then start this year anew, shall we?”

“Plus, we’ll be good and drunk by the welcome feast,” Dean added, and Seamus nodded importantly.

It was a melancholy observation, but it was true: all their past antics at Hogwarts seemed childish and silly now, just a bunch of funny memories of more innocent times. Before, Harry would have been mortified to tell them about how Cho Chang cried after kissing him, but now he saw the hilarity in it that everyone else saw and was actually pleased about the ribbing he got. It just made everything feel so… normal. For a couple hours, they were just boys again in a dorm room, drinking and laughing and poking fun at one another.

And they got drunk, like Dean promised.

Harry stumbled into Ron as they made their way down to the Great Hall in one loud pack. Seamus wasn’t bothering to hide the gin bottle anymore, openly chugging from it in the hallway. Harry was mildly aware of younger students staring at them, but he didn’t give a fuck. He was laughing too hard at someone’s joke.

The hallways were alive with people, and it was like the clock had turned back time. Like nobody noticed half the castle was still in disrepair because a devastating battle had taken place.

Harry was glad he was drunk for this; sitting through a welcome feast would be too painful otherwise. He allowed Neville to pull him toward a table at one end of the hall that lined up with the house tables but which was much shorter. This is where the returning students would sit, altogether as if they were one big house.

“What should we call our house?” Harry asked. His vision was a bit wobbly, but he could make out that everyone stopped chatting and gave him their full attention. Something he was regrettably used to; everyone treated him like the King of England.

He could barely make out the details of people’s faces, but he knew Malfoy right away, and his stomach lurched. It was impossible to miss Malfoy’s strikingly blond hair, longer and swept back from his face. His profile was a little shaky but still distinguishable. He sat all the way at the far end with the rest of the Slytherins. They were looking at Harry, too. Harry must have been staring at him too long because Malfoy turned away and Pansy Parkinson leaned across the table to say something to him.

“The Conquerors!” someone shouted, and people booed him.

“That sounds stupid,” Seamus added.

“What about Dumbledore’s Army?” said Susan Bones.

“Not everyone here was part of the D.A. if you haven’t noticed,” said Zacharias Smith with an eye toward the end of the table.

That caused a lull at the table as people awkwardly shot looks in that direction, too. Zabini, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Goyle, and of course, Malfoy. To be honest, it was strange to see them there among the rest. Everyone else had either been in Dumbledore’s Army or had fought against Voldemort. The Slytherins, huddled together in a knot at the end, stuck out sorely.

“And not everyone ran out of the castle pushing past little girls, did they, Smith?” Ron said. This caused a renewed burst of laughter and a fair amount of mocking in Smith’s direction, and weirdly enough, it managed to cut the tension. Harry was grateful for Ron’s outburst; Smith deserved it, the arrogant arse.

“What about Unitas?” Hermione said.

Padma Patil nodded. “The Latin for ‘unity’. It’s fitting.”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled at her. “We are all united here. We’ve gone through hell together, and we’re back together now.”

“I like it,” Harry said.

There were nods of assent all down the table as people noted how clever the name was. Dean raised his goblet and said, “To Unitas house!” Everyone said cheers to the name.

When McGonagall approached the podium, all of the chatter and laughter in the room subsided. Harry got the sense that everyone was eager to hear what she would have to say. The welcome feast had always been a time for the headmaster to expound upon his expectations for the coming year, to lay down the ground rules, and to motivate the students by pointing out something inspirational—or at least, that’s what Dumbledore had always done. But this year was different, and that knowledge hung in the air as everyone remained silent, patiently waiting for McGonagall to begin. Even Peeves, bobbing in midair at the back of the hall, had taken off his cap and was staring straight ahead.

“Welcome,” McGonagall began. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see all of you here, back at Hogwarts.” She looked around the room with shining eyes that betrayed the depth of her emotion. “Everyone who has returned today, and every single new first year who has taken a chance on this dilapidated old school, has brought new light with them. Each and every person in this room represents a new dash of hope. We all sit here tonight as a testament to the fact that Hogwarts has not fallen.”

Hermione eyes got wet like McGonagall’s. Even in his wobbly state, a shiver passed through Harry. One look around the hall made it clear that everyone was touched by those words.

“However,” McGonagall continued with a sense of crispness that was more like her usual self, “it will rapidly become obvious to you as you move within the castle that large portions of it remain damaged. Hogwarts faculty, with the help of expert curse breakers and magical menders, worked all summer to get the castle in proper working order for school use. What you see repaired is thanks to the tireless effort of the professors sitting before you, as well as the experts mentioned.”

Whoops and cheers resounded, and many students began a round of applause. McGonagall gave a tight-lipped smile wanted to smile and then waved her hands for silence.

“This brings me to the next order of business. When we considered what to do about the twenty returning students who weren’t able to finish last year’s studies because of the war—”

McGonagall turned to Harry’s table, bringing all eyes on the room with her.

“—we thought about integrating them back into the seventh year curriculum. However, many of those students sitting there played such a pivotal part in the war effort, and their skills are so surpassing of their grade, that they don’t really need to be back here at all. We were at a loss as to what we could teach them that wouldn’t feel trivial compared to the work they did on their own, fighting against the worst evils and, ultimately, saving us all. We told them there was nothing left for them here; that returning to Hogwarts would only stagnate them and that they should move on. Go find work, we said, for you will be taken anywhere you wish and in the best positions available. But to our surprise, they each insisted on coming back.”

Harry had indeed received such sentiments in his letters from McGonagall over the summer. As far as he knew, so had Ron and Hermione, but he hadn’t been aware that every returning eighth year had been told to move on as well. It made him wonder about the returning Slytherins.

He glanced at Malfoy again.

He shouldn’t stare at Malfoy too much. It wouldn’t do. Malfoy wanted nothing to do with him, and he made that very clear over the summer in a variety of ways.

If everyone sitting at this table had ignored McGonagall’s advice, it meant every returning eighth year wanted to be here. Even Malfoy. Harry didn’t quite know what to make of that, and he wanted desperately to ask Malfoy why.

“Finally, we came up with a solution. I told the returning students that should they come back to school, they would get a special project. Everyone agreed, but they don’t know what the project is yet. So I will announce it to all.” She turned to the room at large. “They will be helping us return Hogwarts to its former glory by rebuilding the rest of the school.”

Again, people started clapping, and this time even some of the faculty joined in from their table. The drink dulled Harry’s embarrassment at being the center of attention yet again, this time lauded for something he hadn’t even begun to do yet.

Rebuilding the castle. That was a surprise. He had offered McGonagall both his help and his money, but she had refused him. So he was under the impression they had already sorted it all out. But it was a great idea and he was getting excited just thinking about it. It would be much more interesting to do hands-on work than to be stuck in a classroom all day. And taking a personal role in rebuilding the castle appealed to him greatly. This castle had given him so much other the years. His first friends, his first sense of belonging— his first home. Putting the stones back one by one would be like giving something back.

The rest of McGonagall’s speech reiterated the school rules—no one was allowed in the Forbidden Forest, all students must be in bed by curfew, and the rest of the usual things. The first years were sorted and each house received a fair number of new members. Seamus, Dean, and Ron cheered uproariously whenever someone was sorted Gryffindor.

“Oh, brilliant!” Seamus said when the feast finally appeared. Bottles of wine manifested in the center of the table. He uncorked a bottle of red and poured it into his goblet, splashing Hermione’s plate.

“Be careful!” She mopped it up with her napkin.

“One of the perks of being of age,” Seamus continued, ignoring her. “We get to drink like the professors now!”

“And we thought we were being slick hiding it,” Dean said.

Hermione snorted. “You weren’t hiding it very well. Anyone could tell you’ve have a few.”

Harry piled his plate with oven roasted red-skin potatoes. “Isn’t it brilliant we’re going to help rebuild the castle?”

“Brilliant?” Hermione looked horrified. “I’m just thinking about how we’ll ever be able to restore all the details with historical accuracy. It’s an impossible task. We’ll need to do loads of research well beyond _Hogwarts, A History._ ”

“Hermione,” Ron said, “how are you already stressed out when you’ve only just heard about it? Besides, I thought you liked research.”

“You know how McGonagall mentioned those letters she sent us?” Harry said, changing the subject; he had no interest in listening to their trivial bickering. He lowered his voice. “Do you think they got the same ones?” He indicated toward the end of the table with a small nod.

“She said so, didn’t she?” Ron said.

“I just can’t imagine Malfoy going, ‘Please, Professor, please won’t you let me come back to Hogwarts?’ I just don’t understand why he’s here. Why any of them are here.”

“Well Zabini’s here because he had nothing to do with Voldemort anyway,” Ron said. “His family were never Death Eaters, right? He’s just back like anyone else.”

“Personally, I’m surprised Parkinson came back,” Hermione said. “After that whole thing about handing you over to Voldemort, I didn’t expect her to have the guts to come back, to be honest.”

In truth, Harry had forgotten all about that. There had been so much going on, the last thing he thought about was Pansy Parkinson trying to barter his life away. But it brought back the memory of everyone else coming to his defense and standing by him, and his heart lurched. He took a large gulp of wine to avoid becoming too sentimental.

Dinner was far too delicious and an hour later, Harry found himself stuffed full of food and alcohol and feeling sated and drowsy. They returned to their shared common room altogether in one big drove. Someone had started singing a pub song and it didn’t take long for others to follow. Seamus and Lavender Brown had snagged some unopened bottles of wine from the table, so all in all, they were a merry crew all the way up to their new tower.

The entrance to the new common room was behind a large tapestry of bare wines covered in thorns. It was a bleak scene, with muted colors and a stark lack of life. There was no password, and they only had to approach for the tapestry to roll up to reveal a door. When they went inside, the fire was already ablaze, and everyone settled down in front of it, spreading out among the sofas, chairs, and rug-covered floor.

Harry couldn’t spot Malfoy in the group, nor were his friends anywhere to be seen. Had they even followed the rest of them up here? He looked around until he saw the door to the common room open again, and then Parkinson stepped through. Eventually, she was followed by the rest. Harry looked away but he could still see from the corner of his eye that Malfoy entered last.

Smith groaned and said in a not-so-quiet whisper, “I hope they don’t try and sit with us.”

“Oh, tsk!” Lavender waved them over. “Hey! Do you want a drink?”

Something about her filled Harry with a sense of admiration. He’d never given Lavender much thought beyond having been Ron’s girlfriend in sixth year. But now she seemed one of the strongest and bravest people in the room. Her face was covered in angry scars from the werewolf attack only months ago. She had more reason than Smith had to be bitter toward the group of people whose families had been directly involved with Voldemort. She could easily be vindictive and snub them, but Lavender was the first to break the ice, and Harry felt a strong sense of inspiration from her.

Zabini strolled over and grinned charmingly. “I’ll take a drink if you’re offering.” He sat cross-legged next to Lavender on the floor, taking the bottle from her and drinking straight from it.

Malfoy was speaking something into Goyle’s ear and they were looking toward the door that led to the dormitories. In a moment of panic that they might just go up to bed, Harry moved over to make room on the sofa he was occupying alone.

“Pansy,” he said, forcing a smile. “Come on, join us.”

Parkinson’s doe eyes became even rounder and her pale cheeks coloured faintly as she stared at him. “Sure,” she said, reaching back to grab Bulstrode’s hand. She pulled a reluctant-looking Bulstrode with her, and soon they were both squeezing onto the sofa. Pansy sat in the middle, smiling shyly up at Harry.

It was incredibly uncomfortable, but Harry told himself if Lavender could be as gracious as she was, then so could he.

Plus, it was the first time Malfoy had looked at him in what seemed like months. He felt Malfoy’s eyes on him, practically burning. Or maybe that was just the heat from the fire, which was crackling in the hearth to Harry’s right.

Malfoy and Goyle sat down on the floor next to Zabini, who passed them the bottle of wine. Goyle chugged a third of it in one go before giving it to Malfoy, who looked at it with his lip upturned in a sneer.

Just that tiny, little expression did something to Harry’s insides. The way Malfoy managed to look so fucking snooty and self-important despite all the shit that had gone on. The way he was still exactly the same, still a prick who ignored letters and never said thanks after the trials. Harry had kept him from going to Azkaban, for fuck’s sake. It was because of Harry that he was even here. Yet, Malfoy refused to even look at him.

For his part, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He didn’t think that was very fair. But the truth was, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Malfoy’s pink lips, sneering at the wine bottle; he had the most expressive mouth Harry had ever seen.

“Go on, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Have a drink with us.”

Malfoy’s shoulders stiffened, and this time his eyes found Harry’s with almost alarming intensity. He held the bottle up to his mouth as everyone got strangely quiet.

Then he smiled. “Sure, why not?” He took a swig from the bottle, licking his lips afterward. “To Unitas house.”

Seamus and Dean took up the cry. “Unitas house!”

Everyone with a bottle of wine in hand, Malfoy included, raised it and then took a long drink before passing it around again. Harry grinned when a wave of cheers and whoops erupted. It really did feel like they were one big house. He didn’t even mind the Slytherins being part of it. When Parkinson took his wine bottle, her fingers grazed against his, and it made him feel like maybe they could put the past behind them.

Smith seemed to be the only one with a frown on his face. He sat on another sofa with Ernie Macmillan, the only other Hufflepuff bloke who had returned with him. Smith was staring daggers at Malfoy.

“Why are we pretending that they’re one of us?”

The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the hiccup that Neville let out before clamping a hand over his mouth.

“You need to drink more, mate,” Ernie said, letting out a forced and rather nervous laugh. “Gotta loosen up a bit.”

“No,” Smith spat. “I’m serious. There’s no way I’m sitting here with Malfoy like it’s not his family’s fault we all lost people last year.”

Harry realized he was clutching the arm of the sofa, muscles poised to get up if he needed to. If there was going to be a fight.

“He’s not welcome here, as far as I’m concerned.” Smith pointing at Malfoy. “I can’t forget what my family suffered, I don’t care if you lot can.”

“Zach…” Ernie placed a hand on Smith’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

Nobody said anything. What could they say? It was all true. There was no denying that Smith had a point. Even Harry, when he tried to speak, hesitated every time he thought he had the words. Smith’s anger was justified. Harry carried that same anger, himself. Whenever he thought of Sirius—of Remus and of Fred and of Dobby. Of countless others.

The wounds were so fresh, they were still bleeding.

Slowly, Malfoy uncrossed his legs and stood up. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“I’ll go,” is all he said.

“Yes,” Zabini said, standing as well, “I think I’ll join you.”

The two walked off toward the dorms, with Goyle trailing behind them. Parkinson and Bulstrode rose from the sofa and followed.

“Wow, Smith,” Lavender said. “Do you have to be such a total and complete dick?”

“Are you seriously saying you’re able to sit there with Draco fucking Malfoy after everything that’s happened? His father was Voldemort’s right hand man. Potter, you know. Weren’t you the one who put him in prison? And rightly so.”

“I didn’t actually sentence him,” Harry said.

“But you spoke at the trials. It was in the paper.”

“I was there to testify. A lot of people were.”

“Yes…” Smith’s tone turned accusatory. “And come to think of it, no one else advocated for Draco and kept him out of Azkaban.” His eyes harboured resentment.

No one said a word as they stared between Harry and Smith expectantly. Harry realized they were waiting for his response.

“I don’t have to explain to you why I do anything.”

But Smith was already in the midst of his outburst. “Why didn’t you just let him rot in there? Like the rest of them?” He leaned forward. “What’s so special about Malfoy, eh? You got a soft spot for him or something?”

“No.” Harry’s temperature rose and he could feel the heat in his neck and cheeks. Hermione, who was sitting on the floor in front of him, put her hand on his knee. “I testified for whoever I thought was innocent!”

Smith snorted. “Him! Innocent my arse. If you think Draco Malfoy’s innocent then you definitely need your head checked.”

Ron stood up. “Alright, Smith. That’s enough.”

Smith chuckled. “Are you his body guard?”

Neville stood up, followed by Dean. As much as Harry appreciated their dual support, he got to his feet, too, because he was perfectly capable of defending himself.

Faced with a wall of aggression, Smith rose and whipped his wand out. This caused an immediate uproar in the group as people gasped and others shouted, scrambling to their feet and forming a haphazard circle around the boys. Ernie stood behind Smith, defending his friend, but the look on his face was more one of bafflement and alarm than of actual hostility.

Harry’s wand was in his hand at lightning speed, and his friends drew theirs as well. Hermione yelled at them and pulled at Harry’s sleeve, but Harry was going to keep his wand poised at Smith as long as Smith was going to point his.

“Hit a nerve, have I?” Smith said.

“Not really,” Harry said casually, though it was an obvious lie. “You’re the one who pulled your wand out.”

“Listen!” Dean said. “Why don’t we all just settle down before this evening is ruined. Yeah? It’s our first day back, we don’t want the memory of it tarnished by a stupid fight.”

Seamus whispered loudly to Hannah Abbott beside him. “I kind of want a fight.”

“He’s right,” Neville said. “It’s late and we’re all too pissed to properly think straight. Let’s just leave it and go to bed.”

Hermione nodded fervently. “I’m going to bed right now. Please don’t blow each other up before classes have even started.” She turned on her heel and walked away from the group. Hannah, Lavender, Padma, and Susan Bones followed her up to the girls’ dorms.

Ron stared after her. “I agree.” He was the first to lower his wand. “This is stupid, and I need to go kiss my girlfriend goodnight.” He winked and jogged off.

Soon everyone was doing the same and the circle broke up. People were yawning and patting Harry on the back as they passed him. He was sort of glad to lower his own wand, throwing Smith a dirty look and turning his back on him altogether.

They were right, this was stupid. What did he care what Smith said about him anyway? For as long as Harry had known him, Smith had never had anything good to say about anyone. It shouldn’t surprise him that Smith was being a git. He was only annoyed now that he had got so worked up about it.

When he reached his room, he found it empty, and he figured Ron was still over at Hermione’s “kissing her goodnight”. He smirked at the fact that, since these used to be faculty rooms, no one remembered to install the charm that prevented boys from going into girls’ dorms. Ron would certainly be happy about that. Hermione had informed them she was rooming with Padma, and Harry snickered, remembering the time Ron had taken her to the Yule Ball. Surely that wasn’t awkward at all.

Harry grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and headed to the bathroom across the hall, wondering how Padma would feel about Ron being in her room so often. He pushed the door open and stopped in his tracks when he saw Malfoy in there.

Malfoy was brushing his teeth at a sink and he spotted Harry in the mirror. He rolled his eyes and spit out his toothpaste. “Of course, it’s you,” he grumbled as he turned on the faucet, cupping water to his mouth to rinse with.

He had already put on his pajamas, wearing a fitted white t-shirt and loose flannel pajama bottoms. Harry had to stare at him for a few moments to convince himself it was Malfoy; he had never seen him so casual before, and it made him feel strange and disjointed. Malfoy looked naked outside of his severe black robes and his school uniform.

Harry walked to the sink next to Malfoy and put down his things. He felt full to the brim with things he wanted to say to him. Like what an asshole he was. How ungrateful he was.

And some other things, like how sorry Harry had been to see him at Crabbe’s funeral. There hadn’t even been a body in the coffin, as they couldn’t recover it from the Room of Hidden Things.

“I’m sorry about Smith,” Harry said instead, uncapping his toothpaste and adamantly not looking in Malfoy’s direction.

“Don’t be.”

“Well, I am. He doesn’t have to be such a prick.”

“I don’t expect anything less. From him or from anyone.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto his toothbrush but only remained standing and staring at it. Finally he set it down and turned to Malfoy.

“People are angry,” Harry said, “but that doesn’t mean they should be dicks to you.”

“Why do you care?” Malfoy’s eyes were hard and defiant, but at the same time magnetic.

Harry sucked in a breath and, upon his exhale, said honestly, “I don’t know.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I think I do.”

Amused, Harry fought the beginnings of a smile. He leaned his hip against the hard porcelain edge of the sink. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’d be chuffed to know, if you’d care to share.”

“Don’t play the idiot, Potter.” Malfoy did not appear amused in the slightest. “You know you just want to play the nice guy so that I can feel even more like shit.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s… that’s completely stupid.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

Malfoy scoffed and made to move past him. But there was no way he was leaving without explaining this. It was so ludicrous that it was infuriating. Harry grabbed him by the arm and whipped him back around.

Malfoy shook him off, the force of which shoved Harry against the sink. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“Honestly,” Harry said, “how does that make any sense?”

“I said leave me alone.”

“Just answer me.” Harry followed him to the door, and as soon as Malfoy pulled the handle, Harry slammed his palm against the door, shutting it again with a bang. Malfoy turned to face him.

“Move your arm,” Malfoy said in a dangerously quiet voice.

“No.” Harry’s arm grazed Malfoy’s shoulder. They were closer than they’d ever been, at least in a while. Harry sometimes woke up from nightmares—memories—of Draco’s chest pressing against his back as they rode the broom through the sizzlingly hot hellscape of the burning Room of Requirement.

But this was face-to-face, noses almost touching. He could see the lines in Malfoy’s lips—because of course, all he could stare at was his mouth.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared slightly. “I would hex you if it wasn’t going to get me expelled.”

A dry laugh escaped Harry’s throat. “You’d hex me… You can’t even do that without a wand, so you’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” Malfoy spat.

“For your fucking wand!”

Somehow, this made Malfoy even more upset. The colour rose in his cheeks, causing an odd little thrill in Harry’s stomach. He couldn’t quite place why seeing Malfoy’s mouth twisted in anger like that made Harry’s blood run hotter, but it did.

“You really are brutal, Potter, you know that?”

“How so?”

“Do you mean that you really need me to explain to you how sending me my useless wand is cruel and vindictive?”

Harry frowned, completely lost. Cruel and vindictive? He had sent Malfoy back his wand out of honest good faith, because he wanted to do something nice for Malfoy. He was only trying to help.

Malfoy was looking at him in disbelief. “Or… you’re just a complete idiot?”

“I thought you’d be happy to get you—”

“My old wand _that you won from me_? Are you serious?” Malfoy hissed. “Do you have no idea how wands work? There’s no way I can ever use that wand again. Not unless I win it back from you, which,” he laughed bitterly, “we both know I could never do. And now you’ve got me to admit that I could never win in a fight with you, so congrats! You win, Potter. You win yet again. You _always_ win. Thank you for reminding me of that by sending me my wand, the wand I got as a first year, which is now nothing more than your fucking trophy. Why don’t you just bend me over and fuck me while you’re at it? Or better yet, why don’t I just get on my knees right here and suck your big, victorious, cock?”

“Stop it.” Harry’s heart was racing so hard he could feel it in his throat.

To his surprise, Malfoy did stop. They were both breathing hard.

A barrage of knocking and a shout of “Quick, open up!” made Malfoy jump away from the door. Unfortunately, this meant he jumped right into Harry, who, out of pure instinct, brought his arm around Malfoy’s waist to keep him from stumbling.

He only had a moment to notice what he’d done before Seamus appeared in the doorway, and Harry pushed Malfoy back so hard, he fell into the tiled wall.

“Are you two fighting now?” Seamus didn’t look too good. His forehead was sweaty and he was a bit peaky. “First Harry and Zach, now Harry and you,” he pointed at Malfoy.

Great, now Malfoy knew Harry had gotten into a bout with Smith over what he’d said about him. But apparently Malfoy thought so badly of him, maybe that was a good thing. It would show him Harry really was trying to help, not pretending to.

As Seamus pointed at Malfoy, he suddenly gagged and brought his hand to his mouth. “Oh, god.” He ran to one of the stalls. “Too much… alcohol…” Harry followed Malfoy out of the bathroom as Seamus began to be sick.

Malfoy marched quickly ahead of him down the hall, stopping at the door next to Harry’s. He poked his wand at the lock and his door clicked open. It must have been a new wand, then. Harry imagined Malfoy over the summer having to test out new ones, which would probably never be as good for him as his first, the one that chose him. He approached his own door, his chest suddenly heavy.

“Malfoy,” he called, just before Malfoy disappeared into his room. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy would even stop, but he did, his shoulders tense as he hesitated.

Malfoy glared at him. “ _What_?”

Harry licked his lip. “I’m sorry,” he forced out. “I didn’t know about the wand.” As soon as the words came out, he knew it just made it sound like he pitied Malfoy, which he had a feeling Malfoy would hate just as much.

He was right; Malfoy slammed his door.

Harry entered his room carrying a new weight. How was he supposed to get through to Malfoy if everything he said only made it worse? It was obvious Malfoy wanted nothing to do with him. So maybe Harry should just leave him alone. He really didn’t need Draco Malfoy’s approval. And Malfoy had always hated him, so why should that bother him now? In fact, nothing had changed, if he thought about it that way.

Ron would tell him to leave it alone. He wished Ron were here so he could tell him what Malfoy had said about the wand—And why in the world hadn’t Hermione warned him? She must have known; she knew everything! Well, in all fairness, she did tell him not to send Malfoy back his wand, and then some other stuff that Harry remembered willfully ignoring.

He was in a supremely foul mood when he finally hopped into bed, the mattress squeaking under him. He closed his eyes and stayed very still, waiting for sleep to come. Instead, his mind raced over what Malfoy had said, his words echoing over and over. Cruel and vindictive? So that’s what Malfoy thought of him. Ha! It made him want to laugh.

With a huff of breath, he turned over, punched his pillow to fluff it up, and settled back in.

Was it cruel and vindictive to stand in front of all fifty members of the Wizengamot and demand that Draco and his mother be pardoned with no charges? He was not in control of the parole they still had to abide by all year, but that was still better than being sent to Azkaban, which would have been the case without his testimony.

Maybe Malfoy saw Harry’s intervention as his attempt to be controlling. Which would be stupid, but he couldn’t help the stupid way Malfoy’s mind worked. If he thought Harry was trying to lord over him with his influence and his power, he was even more of an idiot than Harry gave him credit for.

But he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped at the thought. There was something about the idea of Malfoy actually being thankful that Harry found perversely pleasurable, and he wasn’t sure he could deny it any longer. What Malfoy had said— _why don’t I just get on my knees_?

Harry bit his lip. The visual he got was not at all horrifying, as it should be. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Harry couldn’t stop picturing it; Malfoy on his knees in front of him, that face looking up at him… that gorgeous face with his sharp grey eyes, his straight nose and his pointed chin. And of course, his lips.

His infuriating, hostile, sneery, smirky, evocative lips. The perfect dip of the Cupid’s bow, their pillowy softness, and their light pink colour. Harry pictured running his thumb along the bottom lip and Malfoy turning his head into it, parting his lips slightly to let the tip of Harry’s thumb in.

Harry exhaled, his cock suddenly beginning to swell. What was this? God, he really shouldn’t… God damn Malfoy for putting the image into his head. Harry rolled his hips against his mattress to relieve some of the ache. He was astounded at how good it felt, thinking of Malfoy in this way. On his knees, mouth open, ready to take Harry’s cock.

It was terrible. He didn’t want to take advantage of Malfoy.

Did he?

Of course not. Harry would never. He would never take pleasure in Malfoy swallowing his dick in gratitude. Letting his saliva run down his chin and all over Harry’s shaft as he choked on its length, bobbing that blond head up and down. Making obscene gagging noises as the fat head penetrated his throat.

Harry’s fist had found its way around his cock and he pumped his hips into it. Shit, shit, shit.

God… Malfoy... He was so gorgeous. Such a perfect mouth. Harry wanted to fuck it. To stuff it with his dick every time Malfoy opened it to say something ridiculous. God, he deserved it. He really ought to use his mouth for something better, and he probably sucked dick so well.

Just like that, Harry came. His orgasm assailed him way too fast, before he even knew it was coming. It ripped through him, making him gasp continuously with his mouth open against his pillow.

Then it was over and he lay face down, his heart hammering in his chest and his hand and pajama bottoms sticky. This was really not good.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke up with the awareness that he had a problem. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and shoved his textbooks into his bag knowing he had a problem. Ron was asleep in his bed so he must have made it back at some point in the middle of the night. He had either been really, really quiet or Harry had been seriously deep in sleep.

He nudged Ron on the shoulder and told him to get up or he’d be late for Charms, their first class. When Ron mumbled something incoherently and nodded into his pillow, Harry decided to go down to breakfast without him. He’d tried.

Hermione was already there, but so was Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Harry’s heart did a flip upon seeing them, expecting to see Malfoy sitting beside them, and then he relaxed again when he saw Malfoy wasn’t there. He sat down across from Hermione.

“Hey, are you ready for class?” He didn’t know why he asked that since, obviously, Hermione was always ready for class.

“Yes, and I’m so excited! I was looking through the textbook last night to try and pick out which spells we’re likely to use for the restoration project.”

 _When did you have the time_? he wanted to ask. But in all honesty, Harry shared her sentiments. She had reminded him of what they were tasked with doing and he started to get excited, too.

“I don’t remember the last time I was looking forward to going to Charms this much,” he said.

They talked about the various possibilities as they ate breakfast. Hermione related which spells she had picked out and predicted they’d work with, telling Harry what they were for and how they might be applied to the castle. Harry found himself genuinely interested and offering up suggestions of his own. They finished eating as the majority of people were coming into breakfast, and Harry surprised himself by actually wanting to get to class early with Hermione.

Eventually their classmates joined them and the start of class neared. As they trickled in, Harry tried not to notice where the Slytherins were sitting or when a certain one of them came in, gluing his eyes faithfully to Hermione as she talked about something timetable related. Ron ran in just before Flitwick arrived, one shirttail sticking out of his trousers and one side of his robes hanging off his shoulder. He slid into the empty seat on the other side of Harry.

“Good morning!” Flitwick said cheerily as he dropped some books and papers on his desk and turned to the class. They chanted good morning in response. “My first class. How wonderful to see you all.” He was positively glowing as he looked at them. “We have gone through a lot together, haven’t we? You all make me so proud for having returned. But let’s not dwell on that sore stuff, eh? Let’s talk about Hogwarts!” He clapped his hands together. “Restoration spells! There are many of them. Spells for gluing shattered stones back together—you will learn about that in Transfiguration. Spells for expunging traces of Dark Magic left in the atmosphere and seeped into furniture—you will do all of that with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But what about Charms? What kind of restoration spells does Charms deal with? Anyone?”

Hermione raised her hand, of course, but Harry found that he also cared to answer. He raised his hand as well, and Flitwick nodded at him.

“You can use charms for the mechanism of rebuilding. Such as… Wingardium Leviosa, to lift building materials into place.”

“Exactly. Charms are going to help you with the act of restoration. As you already know by now, having taken so many years of the subject, Charms is about action. You repair something—Reparo. You levitate something—Wingardium Leviosa. You summon something—Accio. And so on and so forth. Which actions do you think we will need to perform, specifically, in repairing the castle?”

The class continued like this, with Flitwick prompting them to review the charms they had already done at Hogwarts. Almost every single one had a useful function in the act of rebuilding. Harry found himself more impressed by Charms, and more enraptured by the class, than he had ever been.

Eventually the end of the hour neared and Flitwick made another announcement.

“Time to put you in your pairs!”

“Pairs?” Hermione asked. “What do we need pairs for? Aren’t we all going to be working together as a class?”

“That is correct, Ms Granger, but you will also have a specific partner with whom you will work with in every class and all year long. Not everyone will be working on the same project at the same time. The extent of the damage is huge, and we need to split you up into different locations. Some of you might work on the North tower while others are working in the Dungeons, while still yet someone else is working in the East Wing. Since it is much too dangerous to be wandering around the ruined parts of the castle alone, everyone will be working with a partner.”

“I choose Dean,” Seamus shouted. This prompted a flurry of outbursts from people claiming their partners. Flitwick loudly shushed everyone and waved his hands, getting up on his chair in order to be more noticeable.

“Quiet! Partners have already been determined!”

“What? Not fair,” someone whined.

“I and the rest of your professors decided to pair everyone based on skill level. We wanted to make sure that, across all subjects, you were most adequately matched with someone who complimented your skills. We just want you all to be as safe and as capable in performing these tasks as possible. Understand?”

He reprimanded them for the remaining grumbling and moaning— “You are all acting like first years”— and prepared to read off a scroll of parchment.

“Now, let’s see. Neville Longbottom, you are proficient in dealing with magical creatures and flora, so your first assignment will be working on the grounds on the North side of the castle. Your partner is Pansy Parkinson, who excels at Charms.”

The room became very quiet as everyone realized they might get partnered with someone they’d never have chosen to work with. Neville was looking straight ahead at Flitwick with a neutral expression on his face, although his jaw was tight. Harry snuck a glimpse at Parkinson, who was nowhere near as gracious. Her disappointment was painted all over her pout and crossed arms.

It seemed people held their breaths as Flitwick continued.

“Dean Thomas, your first assignment will be to assist the House Elves in restoring the magical portraits that were blasted by spells and debris during the battle. I hear you are quite the artist, and you were highly recommended for this task.” Dean smiled shyly. “Your partner is Ernie Macmillan, who will aid with the Charms work.”

This didn’t seem to cause much distress, and both Ernie and Dean appeared pleased by the pairing. Seamus was the only one who looked put out, his hopes of working with his best mate dashed.

“Hermione Granger, you are excellent at everything. You will be working with Padma Patil, who is also excellent at everything, in the hospital wing replenishing healing potions. All of the professors, and Madam Pomfrey, agreed we felt most comfortable entrusting this extremely important work to you two.

“Seamus Finnigan, your daring and mischievousness will be a great advantage in the East Wing, which is still largely untouched since the Battle. Sue Li will be your rational brain and assist in the spellwork.

Sue Li was a Ravenclaw who, as far as Harry knew, always got good marks and was very quiet and reserved. It was probably best that Seamus got paired with her and not Dean, who wouldn’t succeed in reining him in when he started to get a bit out of control.

Harry wondered whom he’d get paired with. Flitwick went further down the list and Harry had yet to hear his name, and the options were becoming thin. Everyone was getting taken. His pulse started to pick up when he kept hearing people he liked get paired, because that meant all the good people were slowly trickling away. With his luck, he’d end up with was bloody Zacharias Smith.

But even Smith got paired with Terry Boot. Susan Bones with Millicent Bulstrode. Hannah Abbott with Anthony Goldstein. Lavender got paired with Zabini, and she smiled at her desk.

“Ronald Weasley—”

Please let him get Ron. Please, please, please.

“—your cleverness at puzzles and riddles makes you ideal for working in tricky or unknown environments, so we have placed you in the East Wing along with Finnigan and Li. Your partner will be Gregory Goyle, who we believe will prove invaluable in that part of the castle.

Ron huffed in annoyance, turning to Harry and mouthing, ‘What the hell?’

Harry’s heart dropped. If Ron was taken and Goyle was taken, that only left…

“Harry Potter, you will also begin working in the East Wing. Your defense skills are unparalleled, and we thought you would pair excellently with Draco Malfoy, who excels in the Dark Arts… er,” Flitwick clearly hadn’t realized how that had come off, for he turned red and cleared his throat, adding hastily, “and who is also skilled at Transfiguration!”

He was going to be sick. He didn’t even want to look at Ron or Hermione. A whole year of working with Malfoy? It was supremely unfair. He had been looking forward to this project so much. Getting to restore the castle with his own two hands and his wand, working alongside his friends to put the broken pieces back together—it was supposed to be cathartic and fun. It was supposed to mean something. Now it wouldn’t be any of those things.

After all the partners were assigned, they were dismissed from Charms and headed down to their next class, Defense. Harry walked with Ron and Hermione, so pissed off he didn’t even have anything to say.

“Damn,” Ron said. “I can’t believe Goyle is my partner. I’m totally fucked. He’s probably going to shove me off a moving staircase. You guys can say goodbye to me now.”

“Don’t say that!” Hermione gripped his arm, hooking her hand through. “I don’t even want to think about it. And that’s ridiculous, he won’t do that.”

“I can see it now,” Ron continued. “We’ll be Levitating stones and he’ll ‘accidentally’ drop some over my head.”

“Stop it! Harry will be there to keep an eye on you. Not that I believe for a moment that will happen.”

“Harry’s going to have his own problems.” Ron chuckled, shooting Harry an impish look.

Hermione giggled. “Well I, for one, _love_ my partner.”

They reached the Defense classroom and filed in, but there were no seats. All the desks had been removed from the room and the floor was empty except for the professor’s podium ahead. Harry had no idea who the new Defense professor was, and he hadn’t really even thought about it up until now. The only thing he knew was that the position was no longer cursed, and so whoever it was might actually stand a chance of keeping their job longer than a year. With the horrible track record of the position, he found he was skeptical about meeting the new professor and expected someone totally incompetent in the field.

That’s why it was such a shock when he saw who walked into the room wearing professor’s robes.

“Holy shit,” Harry blurted, “it’s Bill.”

Bill Weasley grinned and winked at him. “Hey, Harry.” He came up and took Harry’s hand to shake it. “It’s good to see you.” Then he turned to Hermione, giving her a hug. “You look lovely as always, Hermione. Good to see you, too.” When he saw Ron, he messed up his hair and told him to be good or he was telling his mother.

“Fuck off,” Ron said, pushing him away. “You didn’t tell me you were teaching here! What the hell?”

Bill strolled to the front of the room. He looked great, more refreshed since the last time Harry had seen him. Before term started, Bill had said he had big news, but Harry thought it was his announcement that he and Fleur were having a baby. He didn’t say there was another big announcement, like he was going to be the new Defense professor.

His long hair was pulled into his usual ponytail, and he had got more piercings in his ears and in his septum. Part of a large tattoo peeked above his robes, the edges of it sprawling over his neck. His scarred face was as handsome as ever, and his grin bright.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Bill Weasley and I will be taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.” Some students said hello and he nodded and smiled. “Let me tell you a little about myself. For the last nine or so years, I’ve been working as a curse breaker for Gringotts.” This earned him some impressed oohs from those who did not know him. “It’s an amazing job; I absolutely loved it. It sent me all over the world, exploring ancient magical sites and discovering curses we have never seen before. In fact, I recommend it to any of you who are fascinated by the Dark Arts and magical theory. But most of all, you have to love adventure.”

Damn, Bill was so cool. From this short speech alone, Harry would have been convinced to go into Curse Breaking if he weren’t already so determined to join the Aurors.

“But it’s a risky job. It’s too dangerous for someone who’s starting a family,” Bill’s eyes sparkled at that, “and wants a more stable work environment. I didn’t want to be gone for months at a time, and my wife wanted to know I wouldn’t be struck by some rogue curse someday. So when Professor McGonagall approached me for help with the Hogwarts restoration project, I thought it was the perfect time to try something new.

“The thing is, the battle that went on here probably left a lot of unintentional curses behind. I have reviewed the previous years’ material, and I was surprised to find that you didn’t do much work with curses at all. They are very interesting magical spells, curses. Unlike other spells, like the incantations you might do in Charms or Transfiguration, curses are not just words with a subsequent result. They have a mind of their own. In fact, they are almost alive.”

“Like a virus?” asked Padma.

Bill raised his eyebrows. “Exactly like a virus. They are capable of living inside something. In this case, inside stones, walls, furniture, objects of all kinds.”

“But don’t you have to intend to leave a curse?” Parkinson asked. “Like if you’re cursing someone, there’s intent.”

Bill nodded. “Very good. There has to be intent with most magic, but especially with curses. It’s sort of like casting an Unforgivable—which I saw you were exposed to in fourth year, yes? Well then you know you must really _mean_ it when casting it. You have to want to control someone when you Imperius them; you have to want to hurt them when you Crucio them. And of course, you have to want to kill when you cast Avada Kedavra.”

Everyone remained standing very still and tersely. There were some people in this room who, only last year, very willingly cast Crucio against other people in this room. Neville and Ginny had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione all about the horrors of living under the Carrow reign, and about who had been eager to try their hand at curse practice. It was horrifyingly ironic to be discussing these same curses now in such academic terms, as if they only existed theoretically.

Bill continued with his lecture, seemingly unaware of the tension that had formed. “But what happens in battles or in places where a large amount of Dark magic or ill intent has been unleashed at ones, is that organic curses start to form. Does anyone know what those are?”

Hermione raised her hand, probably out of habit at this point, but didn’t wait to be called. “It’s when a curse just forms seemingly out of thin air, but really it’s born from all the malignant intent and the rebounding of magic all over the environment.”

“Correct. Magic seeps into the environment, energy seeps into the environment, and together they spawn curses. In other words, the parts of the castle that you’ll be working on to restore are likely riddled with curses. Or you can think of it as: the devastated part of the castle is harbouring Dark Magic. This class will be curse-focused and aim to teach you how to break a variety of them. You will learn about the different kinds of curses, how to spot and differentiate between them, and the theory behind breaking each kind.”

Harry didn’t even know that curses fell into different categories. It was fascinating, and he realized he wanted to learn so much more. He wanted to know everything there was to know about curses. He wished all the years of Hogwarts were like this, because he was actually antsy to go read his textbook. Then again, Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been his favorite class. The times it hadn’t been run by psychopaths, of course.

He soon found out why there were no desks in the room. Bill started to describe the most common kind of curse they’d find on their exploration of the castle. It was called the Sparkler, which was an outburst of unfocused Dark energy when something harboring the Sparkler was disturbed.

“If you move a stone that had been hit by an Arm Severing hex, for example,” Bill said, “that hex might have spawned a Sparkler that unloads on you when you disturb the stone it’s living in. These are by far the most common thing you will experience. It’s small, but it’s deadly, so you have to be able to cast a shield against it. It manifests as an explosion that spits off a spray of searing light. Kind of like fireworks, but not pretty and definitely not fun. For the rest of class, you’ll get into your assigned pairs and practice casting a shield charm against a firecracker spell, alternating between who is doing the shield and who is throwing the firecracker.”

“Goyle’s going to blast me to pieces,” Ron whispered dramatically.

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione grinned. “You’re ridiculous.”

Harry sighed as everyone drifted around each other trying to find their partners. He looked around to find Malfoy, who was already walking toward him. He wore his hair differently this year, swept back from his face and cut shorter on the sides and longer on top. It looked good on him. Harry swallowed as he pushed down this newfound attraction, gripping his wand in a tight fist at his side.

As Malfoy approached him, his eyes quickly looked Harry up and down and his frown turned into a smirk. “I’ll do the firecrackers first,” he said, lifting his wand. “Fragor.”

Harry had all of a millisecond to say, “Protego!” and cast a shield charm. Malfoy set off an array of fiery sparks, which would have most certainly burned him if he had been even a second late.

“You’re fast, Potter—Fragor!”

Another burst of sparks.

“Malfoy!” Harry deflected them again.

“What? I’m only doing the exercise.”

Harry wanted to wipe that smug, self-satisfied look off his face. “At least wait for me to be ready.”

“The Sparklers aren’t going to give you prior notice, Potter.” Another nearly imperceptible flick of his wand told Harry he was about to cast again, and Harry thought quickly.

“Incarcerous.”

Ropes wound around Malfoy’s, pinning his arms to his torso. But he still held onto his wand.

“Diffindo.” Malfoy was able to cast the severing charm and snap his bonds. “Cheating, Potter?”

Bill jogged up to them. “No, it’s okay. I should have realized your group was much more advanced than just needing to practice shield charms. Why don’t we continue like this? You can both cast Fragor and try to deflect and contain the other’s. Go ahead.”

Bill stood back a few paces and crossed his arms as he watched them. The rest of the class was watching, too. Smith cupped his hands over his mouth and hollered, “Get ‘im, Harry!” and that prompted Parkinson to shout, “Go, Draco!” Seamus and Dean were just clapping overdramatically and chanting, “Fight, fight!” with twin grins.

Shaking his head, he couldn’t believe he was in the position of putting on a bloody show. It was already bad enough having to do the exercise with Malfoy, but now it had turned into a competition.

“Ow!” Harry clutched his bicep. There was a slash through his robes his skin underneath was pink with whiplash. Malfoy had cast a magical whip at him.

Malfoy was smirking but his eyes were angry . “Yeah, _get him, Harry_.” He raised his wand. “Fragor!”

Harry ducked and cast a tripping charm straight at his ankles, and Malfoy fell on his arse. Knowing he should take the opportunity while Malfoy was down, Harry lifted his wand to cast Fragor, picturing the sparks that would shower Malfoy’s head and face. He should just cast it… but he hesitated too long.

Malfoy shouted, “Adtono Protego!” and shot a blasting shield charm, the force of which blew Harry back. He stumbled and nearly tripped but managed to stay on his feet. It gave Malfoy enough time to stand up.

“I see you’re not having too much trouble with that new wand!” Harry snarled.

Malfoy grinned. “It’s not too bad. Fragor!”

“Protego!”

Malfoy circled him, arm raised. “Aren’t you going to take a shot?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Harry kept a keen eye on Malfoy’s wand.

“Cast at me, Potter!”

“It’s alright.”

“Cast!” Malfoy’s frustration unleashed a zap of lightning without him having to say anything. Harry nearly didn’t block it in time.

“You’re supposed to cast Fragor,” Harry said.

“So are you, and if you’re not playing by the rules, then neither am I.” Malfoy stomped up to him, so close that Harry could smell his cologne, somewhat lavender and somewhat woodsy. He breathed it in, mentally willing Malfoy to come even closer. In a low voice that was only meant for Harry’s ears, Malfoy said, “Don’t you dare go easy on me. I don’t need you to feel bad for me or to baby me, Potter.”

“I’m not, I just…” He broke off, unsure of what to say. The truth in Malfoy’s words hung heavy between them. Harry swallowed as he realized he was trying not to hurt Malfoy.

Malfoy put his wand under Harry’s chin, the tip stabbing his skin. “What about now, huh?”

Voices all around him said, “Don’t let him do that to you, Harry!” and “Get him, Harry!” but Harry tuned them out. He focused on Malfoy’s eyes, so intense with fury and something else he couldn’t place.

Malfoy’s hand trembled so slightly, Harry was sure he was the only person who noticed. Malfoy bared his teeth, and Harry wondered if he would cast. He had a sure shot, and Harry was crazy for giving it to him. He was positive Malfoy wouldn’t cast anything lethal—not only because he was on probation but because Malfoy just wouldn’t do that—but he could still do some serious damage with a good Fragor spell from this close up.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and then he stepped away, spitting out, “Fuck!” He turned away from Harry, his shoulders tense.

Harry wanted to reach out to him. To place his hand on the small of Malfoy’s back and lean into him, and to inhale that dizzying scent at the curve of his neck and shoulder. If only a room full of people weren’t watching.

“You two take a break…” Bill said, eyeing Harry cautiously. “Longbottom and Parkinson, you two are up.”

Ron was standing with his arms crossed, giving Harry an odd look. He lowered his voice when Harry approached him. “That was kind of intense,” he said.

Harry forced a chuckle. “Yeah, Malfoy’s such a shit. Did you see him going hard on me for no reason?”

“I mean, he was doing the exercise. Why weren’t you... doing anything?”

“What do you mean? He was obviously trying to attack me. I didn’t... I didn’t want it to escalate.”

“Attacking you.” Ron was continuing to give him that odd look. “By casting the spell he was supposed to cast.”

“Are you kidding me?” Harry huffed, getting frustrated now. “You didn’t see… I _was_ doing something, I was casting a shield charm, like _I_ was supposed to.”

“Yeah, but then when Bill said…” Ron waved his hand. “Oh, nevermind.”

“Yeah, nevermind.” Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away, though he still noticed Ron looking at him with narrowed eyes. He tried to focus on watching Neville and Parkinson sparring. Neither of them were going easy on each other.

Their next class was History of Magic. Just as Hermione had predicted, they discussed the historical details pertinent to Hogwarts’ restoration. From the pattern fabric for the curtains to the Medieval aesthetic in stained glass, everything had to be transfigured back to the original style. The subject could have been compelling with the help of visuals, but Professor Binns did nothing but lecture in the same droning voice as ever. In one way, Harry found it comforting, like he had taken a Time Turner and returned to years prior. In another way, he wanted to bang his head against the desk from boredom. By the end of class, only Hermione was still sitting upright and listening attentively.

“Wasn’t that incredibly interesting!” she said as they walked to lunch.

Ron gaped at her. “Are you joking? I thought it would never end. That I’d die and become a ghost just like Binnsy before it was over.”

“It’s very important that we pay attention to detail when we’re doing our work,” Hermione continued. “We don’t want to come across a tapestry and accidentally give it a fringed edge when it’s supposed to be tasseled.”

“No...” Ron said, “we wouldn’t want to do that.” He looked sideways at Harry. “You’re going to be making potions, anyway, remember?”

“Oh, no, you’re right.” Hermione looked horribly distressed.

“I thought you wanted to help Madam Pomfrey!”

“No, I do, it’s just… I won’t be there to make sure everything’s accurate.”

Speaking of tapestries, that reminded Harry of the one at Grimmauld Place. It occurred to him that even though he’d told Ron and Hermione about the letter he’d written Malfoy that night, he had never told them about the tapestry. When they got to the Great Hall and reached the Unitas table, chose a spot at the very end so as not to be overheard. Ron and Hermione sat down across from him.

As he spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate, he said in a low voice. “So, I never told you guys something.” They gave him dual worried looks, so he added, “It’s nothing bad, it’s just something that I noticed when we were staying at Grimmauld Place over the summer. But we were all so busy, it completely slipped my mind until now.”

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“You know the big tapestry in the study?”

“The Black Family Tree.” Hermione nodded.

“Guess whose name is blasted off now.”

“Whose?” Ron asked, just as Hermione whispered, “Draco’s.”

Ron looked at her questioningly.

“I noticed it, too,” she said.

“You did?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Hermione shrugged and turned to the serving platters, picking out a piece of roast chicken. “Oh, I didn’t think it was important.”

“What!”

“Shh, Harry!” She frowned at him, peeking down the table to make sure no one else was listening to them.

“How is that not important?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me _why it is_ important.”

He had no problem doing that. “First off, I didn’t know the tapestry continued to blast people off the tree on its own. Ever since Walburga died, I mean. Secondly, what did Draco do to earn himself a charring? He must had dishonoured the family in some way… But how? As far as we know, he’s done everything in accordance to Black family values: taken the Mark, joined the Death Eaters… Anything he could have done to get disowned in the eyes of Walburga Black, he must have only just done this summer.”

“That is interesting,” Hermione conceded, nodding. “To be honest, I’d be curious to know. Perhaps I’ll do a little research on magical tapestries or family bloodline magic. I’m not sure what kind of magical mechanism this is.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, glad Hermione was seeing the merit of this. Although she was probably more interested in the magical theory part of it than the Draco part.

“For instance,” she said, “how does the tapestry know that Draco did something disreputable? It must be the same kind of magic like in that clock Mrs Weasley has in their kitchen that knows where everyone is and tracks their location. Or, no, actually that’s obviously a tracking charm; those are rather simple magic. Now I have to find out. I’m going straight to the library next period."

Next period was free; they had an hour to do with as they wished before Care of Magical Creatures and then, finally, Transfiguration at the end of the day.

“The library?” Ron exclaimed, turning to Hermione. “I thought we were going back to the common room. You know, to…”

Hermione blushed pink. “Oh, yes. I forgot. I just get so excited about research…”

“Yeah, more excited than about other things, it looks like.”

“Well, it’s _interesting_ , Ron.”

Harry decided to spend his free period down at the Quidditch pitch, where behind the lockers was a weight training room that all the house teams shared. He had been working out nearly every day this summer, whether it was impromptu Quidditch matches at the Burrow or lifting weights at home that he had transfigured from various household objects. After the war, he found that working out was the only thing that kept his stress levels down to manageable levels, releasing endorphins and serving as a way for him to vent his frustrations. Plus, he had to get his body ready for the Auror Training Program, which required all recruits to be in peak physical condition.

The thing he’d missed most about the Quidditch weight room was the punching bag that hung in the corner. Harry started with some sit-ups, then did pull-ups, and finally felt warmed up enough to start hitting the bag. He grabbed some wraps from a bin and cast a quick Scourgify over them before wrapping his knuckles.

There was something about physically punching something that was so much more satisfying than casting a spell. It had to do with a different kind of skill, a more primal kind. Strength, speed, endurance. His muscles getting stronger every day, building him into something better and more capable. Being able to physically dominate something, like the bag, spoke to a more base part of him, and it gave him a rush like nothing else.

He was sweaty and breathing hard when he heard someone come in. He didn’t turn, too focused on getting through his current set, but was aware of the footsteps approaching.

“Harry.”

He threw his last few punches, racing to the finish. His fists hurt, and they’d likely bruise later. When he turned around, he was surprised to see Bill sitting on the bench waiting for him.

Bill grinned. “Looking good, mate.”

Harry smiled, wiping his forehead of the beads of sweat that dripped into his eyebrows. “I’m getting better. I was shit when I started.” He sat down next to Bill, legs spread and elbows on his knees. His chest rose and fell as he recovered. “Maybe one day I’ll get as big as you.” He nudged Bill on the arm.

“Maybe,” Bill said with kind eyes. He was so different from the other Weasley brothers. Fred and George would have teased with something like, ‘You wish!’ But Bill was so earnest and supportive. Maybe it came from being the big brother.

“Yeah, right.” Harry chuckled. “I know I’ll never get that big. You’re like ten feet taller than me.” Bill laughed. “Anyway, what’s up?”

Bill’s face became more serious, but still friendly. “I want to talk about class.”

Harry sighed, happy he was feeling so chilled out from the workout. “What about it?”

“You and Malfoy.”

“There’s nothing going on between us!”

Bill raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say there was… anything going on.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no ‘me and Malfoy’ so you don’t have to say it like that.”

“Right.” Bill proceeded slowly. “I mean to talk about what happened during your exercise.”

“Like why he was coming at me?”

“He was a bit aggressive, but that’s okay.”

“A bit!”

“I don’t want to coddle you all. Things in the real world are never safe and predictable, so I didn’t think to stop Malfoy from being a little aggressive with you.”

Harry wanted to say that he knew things weren’t safe and predictable, but he was aware it would come out as petulant. He tried not to pout, either. But this quasi-lecture from Bill was starting to annoy him.

“Besides, I know you can handle it.” Bill shot him a secretive smile and even lowered his voice. “Malfoy’s no match for you.”

Bill was trying to be supportive, but that only made Malfoy’s words from yesterday echo in Harry’s mind, and he felt a great deal of embarrassment.

“I’m not trying to prove that I can beat Malfoy at anything.”

“I know that. Listen, Harry, I know you get touchy about Malfoy—now, hear me out!” Bill held his hands up. “I feel like anything we talk about regarding Malfoy will make you respond a little… defensively. But let’s just talk about it. We need to, if you’re going to be working with him for an entire year. You can’t just not do the exercises with him. There will be more such exercises in my class, and I want you to participate fully.” When Harry remained silent for a few seconds, Bill went on. “Besides, I was sort of looking forward to you showing everyone how it’s done.”

Again, Harry wasn’t trying to be some shining example of perfection. Was he ever not going to be looked up to like some sort of beacon of rightness? It frustrated him to no end. But, out of respect for Bill, Harry forced himself to nod.

“Fine,” he said through tight lips.

“Good. Now, can we talk as friends for a second?”

“You mean, Professor Weasley is done?”

“Yes, he’s out of here. So what the bloody hell is going on between you and Malfoy?”

“I told you—!”

“Cut the bullshit, Harry.”

That surprised him enough to shut him up.

“I saw the way you two were glaring at each other,” Bill said. “There was so much tension in the room, I thought your magic was going to spontaneously combust. That shit’s not healthy, not to mention it’s dangerous. You could lose control and actually hurt people.”

“He was glaring at me out of anger and hatred,” Harry clarified. “And I was doing the same.”

Bill’s brow furrowed and he looked Harry steadily in the eye. “Is that all it was?”

“I don’t really want to talk about this.” Harry stood up, having had quite enough of Bill’s interrogation. Besides, the direction of the conversation was making his stomach feel weird and upset, like he had eaten something that’d gone off.

“You can talk to me, Harry. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“I have to go. I have to shower before Creatures. Sorry, talk later!” Harry shouted back as he all but ran out of the room. He felt bad leaving Bill like that when he was only trying to be nice, but he had a very strong urge to get away and he might be sick if he didn’t.

What was Bill implying, anyway? What kind of tension was he talking about besides the tension of Malfoy wanting to murder him? The truth was, Harry could suss out the answers to both those things, and he tried valiantly not to think about them.

But once he reached the tower and then hopped into the shower, he couldn’t help but think about it. The cocoon of cascading water and the thick wall of steam made him feel almost shielded from the outside world, and it was easier to think about.

If Bill had noticed that something was weird between him and Malfoy, then maybe others had noticed, too. That thought made Harry’s pulse race, and he talked himself down from it. Bill was just really perceptive, which is why he noticed. But surely no one else did.

Besides, there was nothing to notice. Harry might have a strange new fascination with Malfoy’s mouth— _unng_ , the thought of it, even now, sent a thrill straight to his cock—but there was no way anyone could know that from just a failed sparring session. No one could look into his head and see the kind things he was picturing. And, thankfully, neither could Malfoy. The only problem Malfoy had was that he hated Harry. Good, old-fashioned hatred. Lovely, normal hatred. Just like Harry should be feeling, but he wasn’t.

And when had he ever stopped? Or perhaps he should be asking himself, had he ever hated Malfoy? Like, actually _hated_ him?

He hated Voldemort. He hated Pettigrew. He hated Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge and a host of other people. But had Draco ever truly been part of that company of people?

He must have been at one point, because Harry could remember thinking how much he hated him. But he hadn’t thought that for a very long time. Probably the last time he really hated Draco was in sixth year, when he had stomped on Harry’s face in the train. So when had he stopped hating him? It had to have been sometime after that.

Immediately, he saw the memory of Draco crying in the bathroom later that year. Harry had only seen his face in the mirror, but he was struck by such deep, heartbreaking compassion that Harry’s chest ached. He had probably stopped hating Draco then, at that moment. Even though Harry did almost kill him right after… but it wasn’t like he meant to do that.

Harry rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. He wondered if he should wank now that he was in here, just for the hell of it, but he was scared about what images his mind might provide him with… So he quickly soaped his body and finished up.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he pushed the curtain wide open and stepped out.

He almost slipped on the tile floor in his haste to get back behind the curtain. How had he forgotten to grab his towel first? What an idiot! Malfoy was standing _right there_ with his mouth agape because he had clearly just seen everything. _Everything_!

“God damn it, Malfoy!” He groped around for the towel hanging outside and wrapped it around his waist.

“This is a fucking shared bathroom, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was not as nasty as he clearly meant it to be. His usually pale cheeks were bright pink and it appeared he was still suffering from a bit of shock.

Harry scowled. “Stop looking at me.”

Malfoy let out a strange, breathy laugh and walked directly to the toilet stalls, where he was presumably headed before Harry had flashed him.

Fuck.

Now Care of Magical creatures was going to be excruciating. Also, Malfoy was probably going to tell all his little Slytherin pals that he had seen Harry’s cock, and they were going to say dumb things people say to make fun of cocks, like, ‘Oh, what a small dick you have, Potter, hahahahaha.’

He would just have to Stun Malfoy if he decided to be an arse. He’d have no choice in that case. Sure, he’d been hesitant to shoot him with fireworks in Defense, but that was before Malfoy saw his dick. Besides, Stunning wouldn’t mar his gorgeous face.

Harry groaned at the stuff his stupid brain was saying to him.

Luckily, both Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration went smoothly. Malfoy didn’t even look at him. Harry was thankful that neither class gave them a partner task to do, because he didn’t know what would have happened if they’d been forced to face each other.

After dinner, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione by the fireplace, much like they did in their old common room, and they talked about the day. It was just like old times, but not.

“So I went to the library,” Hermione said, looking guilty, “and I found out some things about magical tapestries.”

Harry looked at Ron, who was shaking his head at him. “It’s all your fault,” Ron said, pointing a finger at Harry.

“So what’s happening with the Black tapestry?” Harry asked.

“I didn’t find anything pertinent in regards to tapestries themselves. But I did strike upon something when I looked into spells that monitor rule-breaking. My best guess is that Walburga used a kind of spell that functions similarly to a curse, only it’s not insidious. You see, curses are one of the only kinds of magic that can function with their own judgment, for lack of a better word.”

“Like viruses,” Harry said, echoing what Padma had said about them in class. She’d been spot on.

“In order for the magic to know whenever someone does something against the rules, it has to have, for lack of a better word, sentience of its own.”

“That’s creepy,” Ron said.

Harry nodded. “It is. Bill said curses are alive.”

“Well, sort of. They are alive but not alive,” Hermione said. “It’s hard to explain it; there are no metaphors I can think of.”

“Zombies?” Harry said.

Ron grinned. “I like zombies. They’re like the Muggle version of Inferi, right?”

“Actually,” Hermione said, “zombies are the result of Muggles having seen Inferi and… But that’s besides the point! About the tapestry: Walburga must have cast some kind of curse-like spell, but not an actual curse, as such. The magic just functions with the same mechanism. As far as I know, nothing bad happens to those members of the family who have been disowned. So it can’t be an actual curse, because there’s no detrimental effect other than the social stigma of being disowned, but that has nothing to do with magic.”

“So because it can use its own judgment,” Harry said, trying to get it straight, “regardless of whether or not Walburga is alive, the spell knew when Malfoy did something to betray the Black family.”

“Yes. And then it crossed him off.”

“But what did he do?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Walburga made the spell even more strict,” Hermione said gravely. “I read about spells that are triggered by someone just thinking something they shouldn’t be.”

Harry sank into his seat as he took it all in. If that was true, then perhaps… Well, there were so many possibilities. Maybe Malfoy’s allegiances had changed. Maybe he really did want his father to end up in Azkaban. Maybe he was sorry about all the things that had happened in the war and he wished he could go back and change everything.

Or maybe this was nothing but Harry’s wishful thinking. “There’s no way for you to find out the rules of Walburga’s spell?”

“Harry, it would take hours and hours of study. I have barely broached the subject, I’ve only read four books on it. Do you know how much work we have to do on the Hogwarts restoration project? I was speaking to McGonagall today about the scope of it, and she agrees with me that we should start a committee—”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said. “You’ve helped me a lot by doing this much. Thanks.” Of course, he wished she would find out the exact rules, but she had a point and he would feel bad loading more work onto her.

“I’m satisfied knowing what kind of magic it is; I don’t need to know Malfoy’s every motive.” She gave Harry a pointed look that seemed to say, ‘and neither should you.’

Harry ignored her and stared into the fire.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Harry listened to Ron’s snoring as he slept peacefully in the next bed. He envied Ron’s ability to sleep. Harry lay awake thinking about all the things that had happened that day. Tomorrow, they were supposed to start their assignment, exploring the castle to ascertain the damage and see the scope of the work that needed to be done.

He inwardly groaned at the idea of spending the whole day with Malfoy, especially now. They were supposed to work in the East Wing. At least they’d be sharing the location with Ron, Goyle, Seamus, and Sue Li, so it wouldn’t be just the two of them completely on their own. At that, he brightened up.

He settled into his pillow in another attempt to fall asleep when he heard a soft tapping sound against the window. At first he thought it was the branch of a tree, but then he remembered he was in a tower and no tree could grow that tall. He looked up and saw, lit by the pale light of the waning moon, what looked like a cream-coloured bird.

Harry sat up in his bed, and upon closer inspection saw that it wasn’t a bird but a piece of parchment folded into the shape of one. He got out of bed and leaned over to unlatch the window. The little paper bird flew in, flapping its paper wings, and landed in the palm of his hand, where it became lifeless.

Desperately curious, Harry unfolded the bird to reveal a note.

 

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _Since we’re stuck working together, I wanted you to think about not being a dick tomorrow._
> 
> _Thanks,_
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

  
Harry huffed. He poked his head out the window, into the chilly outside air, and looked to his right. A faint light emanated from the next window, in Malfoy’s room.

He looked back down at the note, re-reading it quickly. He didn’t have to reply, he reminded himself. He could very easily ignore the note, get back into his bed, and go to sleep.

He could do that.

Instead, he took the note to his desk and sat down, flipping the parchment over. After dipping his quill, he began to write.

 

>  
> 
> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _I know you’re not happy about being partnered with me, but I’m not thrilled about working with you, either. Let’s just try and get through tomorrow without any problems. Goodnight._
> 
> _HP_
> 
>  

  
He didn’t want to hassle with creating any fancy birds, so he just folded his note into a paper airplane and Levitated it to Malfoy’s window. With that settled, he hopped back into bed.

It wasn’t even a minute later when he heard another tapping on his window.

Harry jumped up and took the new note.

 

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _You’re the one who refused to fight me in class today. If you would stop treating me like I’m going to break, there won’t be a problem._
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

  
Again, Harry went to his desk. He wrote quickly underneath.

>   
>  _  
> Malfoy,_
> 
> _The only thing I’ve ever done is try to be nice to you. But I see I was wasting my time. Some people never change._
> 
> _HP_
> 
>  

  
Malfoy’s next letter arrived quickly.

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _I don’t need you to look out for me. Who do you think you are? I know everyone thinks you’re god’s gift to mankind, but I think you’re still an arrogant arse. You’re right, some people don’t change._
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

  
As he read, Harry was gripping the parchment so tightly that he crinkled it. Shaking his head at the message, he wondered if he should refrain from responding. What good would it do to sit here arguing with Malfoy all night? If he didn’t get some sleep, he was likely to be testy tomorrow, and then he really would snap at Malfoy.

Perhaps just one more quick note.

 

>   
>  _  
> Malfoy,_
> 
> _I’m not arrogant. You’re an idiot._
> 
> _HP  
>  _

  
After he’d sent it off, he tapped his fingers against his desk waiting for the reply. But when fifteen minutes went by and it never came, Harry thought it was probably for the best and went to bed.

 

 

><

 

 

At breakfast, the chatter at the eighth year table centered around the restoration project. Today was the first day they’d be working on it, and everyone was buzzing with excitement about their assignments. Well, almost everyone.

Harry was glad to see Ron shared his displeasure about the whole thing.

“Man, I am not looking forward to hanging out with Goyle all day,” Ron said, stuffing a sausage into his mouth.

“At least we’ll both be in the East Wing,” Harry reminded him.

There would also be two more pairs with them: Smith and Boot, and Seamus and Sue Li. Altogether, the eight of them would tackle the minefield of Sparklers and curse-infused catastrophe in that part of the castle.

“We can just ditch Malfoy and Goyle,” Harry said. “Like, dodge around a corner when they aren’t looking. I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing.”

Ron nodded. “They can take Smith with them, too.”

“I wish they would,” Harry said. “But since he hates them, I think we’re stuck with him.”

“Seamus is in this section, he can come with us.”

“Yeah, of course. Boot doesn’t bother me, he can come, too.”

Ron grunted through a mouthful and said, “I suppose Sue Li can hang out with us, too. She’s alright.”

Hermione had stopped talking animatedly to Padma about how many more cauldrons they’d need in order to have enough to brew five potions at once.

“You two sound like little children,” she said. “Talking about who can hang out with you and who can’t. Please…”

“But it’s going to be no fun with Malfoy and Goyle,” Ron said.

“This isn’t a recreational activity.”

Soon they were finished with breakfast and preparing, in some cases reluctantly, to get up when Bill appeared at the table.

“Hi, Professor Weasley,” Lavender said, smiling over her bowl of porridge and flicking her long hair to the side.

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you’re all ready for today.”

A chorus of voices said, “Ready,” and, “Yes.”

“Good.” Bill clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. I’m here to collect the group heading into the East Wing.”

“We get a chaperone?” Smith asked, looking unimpressed.

“Just for today,” Bill said. “Your section of the castle is the most dangerous. Everyone else is free to go to their assigned location.”

Bill was going to be there? Ron gave Harry a dark look, and Harry knew they were thinking the same thing: now they weren’t going to be able to ditch their partners and just hang out together.

Pansy Parkinson raised her hand. “Professor?”

“Yes, Miss Parkinson.”

“I’ve been assigned to the North grounds, but I’ve—” she put her fist to her mouth and let out two delicate coughs, “—got a lot of allergies. I believe being outdoors would make me quite unwell. Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied Millicent to the dungeons… and switched partners, too.”

Bill smiled kindly and said in a firm voice, “You can take a potion for your allergies and go to the North grounds with Longbottom. You’ll be fine.”

Lavender raised her hand. “Professor Weasley?”

“Yes.”

“Can I call dibs on the Divination tower for me and Blaise? Since Hannah and Anthony are also doing towers, I want to call dibs on Divination since that was my favourite subject.”

“Professor Flitwick will be managing the teams that are restoring the towers, so he will undoubtedly advise you on where to go.” He looked up and down the table. “Are there any more questions?” he asked in a tone that said there better not be any more questions. “Good, let’s go!”

Harry and Ron, along with the others who were assigned to it, followed Bill into the East Wing. Harry noticed that Malfoy was sticking close to Goyle, but they were trailing at the back of the group and Harry didn’t want to risk being obvious, so he looked away.

The East Wing was boarded up with planks of wood, closed off from the operative part of the castle. Harry couldn’t say he had even been in this wing much, since it had been home to a selection of courses which he had never taken much interest in.

A lot of the classrooms down there hosted extracurricular activities, like the room where the Frog Choir practiced. The Hogwarts orchestra also used to practice in this wing. There had been the art room for the course on traditional wizarding art, a Muggle art room, a Muggle music room, and, most randomly, the Magical Theory classroom.

Bill stood in front of the boarded up entrance and waited for everyone to gather round him. When they all had, he pulled out his wand and pointed it to a plank of wood.

“There is a special unlocking charm to gain entrance to this part of the castle. You eight will be the only students who know the password, since you are the only students allowed down here. Do not share this password with anyone.” Then he tapped his wand against the plank of wood and said, “Tube socks.”

The plank of wood retreated with a scraping noise and revealed a handle. It was then Harry noticed the outline of a door. Bill turned the handle, and they all filed in after him.

The East Wing was comprised of one long, main hallway with arched ceilings. The walls of the hallway were lined almost entirely with tapestries. Tapestries of all sizes, large and small, depicted scenes of idyllic Scottish landscapes or medieval wizarding life. Now, they were charred in places, their pictures disfigured and blackened from the spells that battered them in the fighting. Harry wondered if they were going to be responsible for restoring them. He would have to find a way to pay attention in History of Magic, no matter how mind-numbing Binns was.

Doors off the main hallway led to the various classrooms. However, very few of them retained the actual doors. Inside, the rooms were similarly charred and dilapidated, with crumbling ceilings and blast holes in the exterior walls.

There was a smaller corridor leading off the main hallway, and this was the way to the ghosts’ quarters. When Bill told them this, Harry chuckled. He had never thought about where the Hogwarts ghosts lived before. He just assumed they lived… everywhere. But apparently, they had a little common room of their own to gather in and socialize.

The main hallway continued straight until it opened up to a once-beautiful foyer, lined with massive arched windows. The glass was shattered from many blasts, and Harry felt chilly from the draft. A set of French doors, which were now ramshackled, led out onto a large terrace.

They walked onto the terrace and Harry felt sad he had never come here much, before it had been destroyed. The terrace overlooked winding gardens, and a staircase led down to the flower beds below. There were no flowers growing now, and it wasn’t because it was autumn and the weather had turned. Bill explained that the fighting had left curses in the soil that made it toxic to fostering life. The garden was a brown mass of dirt and the crusty remains of plant life.

But the terrace was still magnificent, regardless. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the view of the Great Lake. From this vantage point, it sprawled before them, stretching across the landscape. Its surface glittered in the weak, pale sunlight despite the greyness of the sky, and Harry could even make out the Giant Squid spreading a tentacle across the water.

He rested his hand on one part of the balustrade that hadn’t collapsed, and a flurry of sparks started rising up on his left.

Harry pointed his wand and said, “Protego!” A shield went up against the ever-growing spray of sparks, which were making loud popping and snapping noises.

Ron came over with his own wand drawn. “Deletrius!” His spell destroyed the sparks in a wisp of smoke. “You’ve found our first Sparkler, Harry.”

“Congratulations!” Seamus exclaimed, and began clapping wildly. Smith, Boot, and Sue Li joined in.

Harry chuckled. “Thanks for the hand, mate,” he said to Ron.

Bill came over. “Good work, boys. There’ll be more of those all over this wing. Let’s all split up into our partners and take one room at a time. Keep a mental record of the damage you see, as it’ll have to be documented later.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. How were they going to sneak off together with Bill tagging along, watching their every move?

“Hey,” Harry said, “why don’t Malfoy and I go with Ron and Goyle into the ghost corridor? We’ll split up those rooms down there among us.”

“Good plan, Harry.” Bill nodded. “The rest of you, follow me through the classrooms.”

Harry smirked at Ron and nodded for him to follow. They led the way to the ghost corridor, Malfoy and Goyle trailing behind silently. Harry hadn’t even looked directly at Malfoy the entire day, and he was keenly aware of the fact Malfoy was walking close behind him.

“Lumos,” Harry said, lighting his wand. The ghost corridor was impossible to navigate, as it had no windows and was steeped in darkness. There was also a charred, smoky odour in the air.

“Why’d you wanna come down here?” Ron asked, lighting his own wand.

Malfoy and Goyle did the same, Harry heard their mumbled spells. Soon there was a wash of soft glowing light, though it didn’t do much to help illuminate the place. It seemed like the shadowy corners swallowed all the light away.

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Seemed more fun.”

“Of course you’d find the most dangerous place the most fun.”

Harry grinned.

The corridor continued further than he’d thought. As they kept walking, a shiver assaulted him. “It’s fucking freezing down here,” Harry said. “Probably because it was home to the ghosts.” He remembered the Deathday Party that Nearly Headless Nick hosted in second year and how frigid that room had been.

“Do you think they still hang out down here?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Malfoy said.

Harry and Ron stopped and turned around.

“How do you know?” Ron said.

“I’ve spoken with some of them.”

“With the ghosts?” Ron said, raising his eyebrows. “But, why?”

Malfoy’s lips thinned and he remained quiet.

“Which ones?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. The idea of Malfoy speaking with the dead made something in his chest hurt.

Malfoy blinked like the question caught him off guard, and he bit his bottom lip. Harry swallowed as he followed the hint of tongue and the scrape of teeth. The corridor suddenly felt decidedly less chilly.

“Oh… just the usual ones,” Malfoy said. “The Bloody Baron, mostly.”

“Doesn’t he live in the dungeons?” Ron asked. “Wait, are the dungeons still there?”

Malfoy gave him a withering look. “They’re underground,” he said in a slow drawl, as though explaining something to an imbecile, “so they were the safest part of the castle.”

“Oh, is that where you were hiding out, then?”

Malfoy’s look darkened. “You know it’s not.” His wand arm tensed, and so did Goyle’s beside him.

The last thing Harry wanted was the situation to escalate into a fight. “Listen,” he said. “There’s a doorway over there. Ron and I will go check it out. You and Goyle can go down further and see how long the corridor is.”

“We don’t need to take instructions from you, Potter.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Do whatever you want.” As if he cared. He started walking toward the door that stood a few feet away, and Ron came after him.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to look at Malfoy.

“Don’t disturb anything.”

What the hell was he on about? “Don’t worry about what I’m doing, Malfoy.”

“I’m serious.”

“Go away, Malfoy!” Ron said.

They ignored him and turned back to the door. Harry held up his lit wand, ready for any Sparklers that might shoot up out of nowhere. He turned the heavy knob and pushed the door open. It creaked on its hinges, and it sounded eerily like screams.

“This place sucks,” Ron said in a low voice. “Next time, try to suggest exploring somewhere less creepy.”

“This whole wing is creepy. Besides, I want to know what’s in here.” He held his glowing wand before him, but he still couldn’t see anything.

“Who cares? It’s probably just cobwebs and— _ah_!” Ron tripped and fell with a thud. A cacophony of tumbling stones reverberated as something crashed, and dust ballooned all around them.

Harry whipped around, trying to make out what Ron had tripped over and ultimately destroyed. It looked like it had been a pile of useless rubble, but when Harry knelt down to help hoist Ron into a sitting position, he saw it was actually something else.

The wooden legs of old desks and their metal tops piled against each other in a tent shape. Broken hunks of stone from the castle wall reinforced the shoddy structure.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind him as Malfoy and Goyle ran into the doorway.

“This looks like... like a fort,” Harry said, his brow furrowed as he inspected the thing.

Just then, a horrible wailing sound came from the darkness. It started low, as though far away, and then the wailing came closer until it filled the entire room. It was painful to hear, and Harry felt sadder just listening to it.

A young girl who looked like she must be a first year appeared, pointing at the rubble structure. She was wearing Hufflepuff colours in her skirt and tie, and her reddish brown hair was plaited to the side.

“YOU RUINED MY HOUSE!”

Harry stood up, and Ron did the same. Harry took a step closer to her, but she let out an angry scream.

He put his wand into the back pocket of his jeans and held out his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Where the hell had she come from, and what was she doing in here? “Why are you down here?” he asked. “Students aren’t allowed to be in the East Wing, it’s dangerous.”

The little girl clenched her fists at her side and hollered at him. “YOU RUINED MY HOUSE!”

Harry was frozen to the spot, unsure of what was going on. “What house?”

“Potter, you idiot.” Malfoy walked up beside him. He addressed the little girl. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix your house. These two morons didn’t see it. But it’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

The little girl glared at him, but at least she had stopped screaming. She placed her hands on her hips and stood there, waiting.

“Get out of the way, Weasley.” Malfoy shoved Ron to the side and started Levitating the pieces of wood that had been knocked over.

Harry watched, stunned, as Malfoy manipulated the stones and the wood and the slabs of desktop. They spun around each other and then settled into the very recognizable shape of a fort.

The little girl clapped her hands in glee and grinned widely at the newly restored structure. “My house!” she squealed.

“What the hell is going on?” Harry asked. “Malfoy, do you know this girl?”

“I’ve seen her around,” Malfoy said.

“You mean you knew she was coming down here? Why didn’t you tell anyone, or stop her? What’s wrong with you?”

“Because she’s a ghost, you moron.”

Harry huffed. “No, she’s n…” He looked at her again, his lips parting. As he stepped closer, the girl flinched and her expression hardened again.

It was so dark, and she stood out so clearly, Harry had to squint to finally see it. As Goyle’s wandlight shifted over her, the tiniest bit of it permeated her cheeks, passing through.

Harry inhaled sharply. She was a ghost.

“But she’s so… clear.” The colour of her skin was nearly as saturated as his own, having none of that milky transparency of any of the other ghosts Harry had seen. None of the Hogwarts ghosts looked like that. She looked so incredibly real.

“Well, she’s a new ghost, isn’t she?” Malfoy drawled.

Did new ghosts look like that? Harry boggled at the fact that, even after so many years in the wizarding world, some things were still as foreign as that first day. Just when he thought he had figured things out, something else surprised him. There was still so much he didn’t know.

“Ghosts fade as they get older,” Goyles said, and Harry realized this the first time he’d heard him speak all year. “They look like her when they’re fresh.”

Harry grimaced. The way he’d put it, it was like he was describing a piece of meat.

Then it dawned on him what that really meant, and he looked at the girl again, staring at her with a sense of horror befalling him. His stomach became heavy, like he had swallowed a piece of lead. His eyes felt itchy and dry.

She had died in the battle.

How had he never considered that Hogwarts would have new ghosts this year? Somehow, the possibility never occurred to him. But so many people had died here, of course there would be new spirits left behind. And this first year girl… Clearly she hadn’t got out in time.

Harry spoke to her as gently as he could. “All the first years were evacuated.” He remembered McGonagall shepherding them out through a safe passageway before the actual fighting started. He also remembered how Zacharias Smith had been pushing through them to evacuate, too. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

She didn’t make any indication that she had heard him, instead peering into her fort.

“What’s your name?” Harry tried again.

“It’s Matilda Weatherstaff,” Malfoy said. “She’s not going to answer you.”

Harry took a long look at Malfoy. The hazy light of their wands softened his face and made his skin look even paler. Almost like he was the ghost.

“How do you know all this?” Harry asked.

Before he got his answer, the girl screamed again. Harry jumped.

“IT’S NOT RIGHT.”

Her feet left the ground and she began hovering in the air, wailing as though in terrible agony.

“I don’t know how it used to look,” Malfoy yelled over her. “Why don’t you tell me and I’ll fix it.”

“NOTRIGHTNOTRIGHT,” she chanted as she picked up one of the bigger of the stones with strength Harry would never have attributed to her. She spun around in the air, like an ice skater, and when she was going so fast that she was a blur, she let go of the stone.

They all ducked but, thankfully, it didn’t come their way. It hurtled into the wall beside them. A terrible smashing sound reverberated through the whole room as stone crashed into stone.

Harry had no idea how he managed to see the crack forming in the wall when he could barely see three feet in front of him, but he was very glad he did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have noticed the way the ceiling was starting to crumble above them from the force of the impact. Dust and debris clouded the air.

Harry saw it just in time.

“Draco!”

He basically tackled Draco to the ground as he leapt on him, trying to move him out of the way of the massive stone that had come loose from the ceiling.

They were rolling on the floor as Ron and Goyle shouted around them and debris showered over their heads. Somehow, Harry ended up on top of Malfoy, holding him tightly by the waist. They were pressed so close, their legs intertwined and their pelvises pressed together.

As the commotion subsided, Harry got up on one elbow, his face inches from Malfoy’s. His other hand was still holding onto Malfoy’s waist, and he didn’t think to move it. Malfoy’s hands were gripping hard onto his biceps.

Malfoy stared at Harry, lips parted and breathing hard. His grey eyes were wide with shock and his white blond hair swept back from his forehead. Harry couldn’t help thinking how gorgeous his face was, wondering faintly how it had taken him this long to notice. He must have been fucking blind all his life.

And Malfoy’s body was so warm underneath his, that even though he was no longer in danger, Harry didn’t want to let him go.

Then Malfoy looked past him and his whole body seemed to flinch, which only made Harry grip him tighter.

“Potter, watch out!”

Harry looked behind him and saw that their crisis was not over. A second wave of stones came loose from the ceiling, raining on top of him.

Stones pummeled his back as he instinctively hovered over Malfoy, using his body to shield him. He could deal with the thudding pain, gritting his teeth against it, but it was when he got hit in the head that he hollered out. And then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up tucked into a bed in the hospital wing. The mattress was hard and the blanket was just shy of scratchy, but he was warm and safe. He groaned as he blinked against the light.

Hermione’s face was the first one he saw as she leaned over to peer into his eyes. She was frowning.

“Are you alright? How stupid of you to split up from the rest of the class! The East Wing is _dangerous_ , Harry, it’s not a playground.”

Ron shoved her out of the way. “Stop yelling at him, Hermione. He’s only just woken up.” He waved his hand in front of Harry’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

Bill grabbed Ron by the collar and dragged him away as well. Bill did not look pleased.

“It’s not my fault,” Harry said weakly. “The little girl… Her fort…” He grimaced as his head started spinning and a pounding began to form in his ears.

“It’s alright, Ron explained everything. I’m not angry. How could I be? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why do you look miffed?”

Bill sighed. “I’m just wondering why you had to jump on top of Malfoy instead of using a shield charm like Ron and Goyle did.”

Oh, right. A shield charm would have worked perfectly in that situation, actually. Probably the safer option, as it would have saved him a trip to the hospital wing. He hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Goyle did that. But that did explain why neither of them were in bed next to him.

Bill was right, he could have just as easily used a shield charm. It was a simple, quick spell to cast. The word Protego could have left his lips in mere seconds, creating a powerful wall of protection between him and the onslaught of falling stones. But his instincts didn’t tell him to do that; they had compelled him to barrel over Malfoy and pin him to the ground.

Harry’s cheeks burned and he fidgeted in embarrassment. “Like you said, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, you only repeatedly insist on taking the more reckless route. If one of those stones had smashed your skull in, I don’t know if there’s anything Madam Pomfrey could have done for you. Thankfully, you only got a concussion.”

“I’ve healed hundreds of concussions,” Madam Pomfrey said, from behind Bill. Harry hadn’t noticed her standing there. “They’re a simple fix. But you will need to stay overnight for monitoring, Mr Potter.”

Harry groaned. According the grandfather clock across from him, it wasn’t even noon. Was he going to have to lie here all day and night? He felt fine, really. Besides the mild vertigo.

He looked down the line of beds, all identical and empty, and something occurred to him. “Is Malfoy alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Bill said. “Thanks to you, he got off easy with some scrapes and bruises.”

Well, that was good. But he wondered where Malfoy was. He wanted to ask him about the little girl—Matilda Weatherstaff. Harry was bursting with questions. Like, how did Malfoy know her name? What did Malfoy know about the ghosts at Hogwarts? It seemed he knew something he wasn’t telling. He was hiding something.

Could this secret of his have anything to do with why his name had been burned off the Black Family Tree?

When Madam Pomfrey went back to her office and Bill left to go back to work—while eyeing Harry deliberately in a way that made Harry both embarrassed and irritated—Ron and Hermione sat on either side of his bed and began barraging him with questions.

“How could you be so careless?” said Hermione.

“How creepy was that little girl?” said Ron.

“Why did you two have to split up from the group?”

“Did you see how scared Goyle looked?”

“Stop!” Harry said. “Hold on. My head’s killing me.” He put his palm to his temple and discovered it was wrapped in linen bandages.

“I’m going to get you some pain reliever potion,” Hermione said, getting up.

When she stepped away, Ron leaned in and lowered his voice. “Mate, we need to talk.”

“I’d prefer if we didn’t,” Harry said, knowing what was coming.

“Everyone came in and saw you lying on top of Malfoy.”

Harry shut his eyes and groaned. Were they all thinking what Bill had been thinking yesterday when he came to talk to him the weight room? Because that would be absolutely mortifying. Maybe Harry didn’t need to complete eighth year, afterall, and he could just leave right now and never have to face anyone ever again.

“Smith started picking on Malfoy about it, calling him a damsel in distress and whatnot.”

Harry groaned even harder.

“So Malfoy’s kind of pissed off.”

“He’s always pissed off at me, so nothing’s new there.”

“That’s true. It’s not like we’ll be surprised if Malfoy tries to hex you.”

Hermione returned with a vial of painkiller and a glass of water. Harry thanked her and uncorked the potion, downing it in one go. He gulped down the water to chase away the bitter aftertaste.

“So,” Hermione said when she sat back down, “tell me all about this little girl ghost.”

He and Ron described the whole thing, from when Ron tripped over her fort to how she flew in wailing. How Malfoy was the only one who seemed to be able to communicate effectively with her and how he fixed her fort, albeit incorrectly. How she became angry and then caused the ceiling to collapse.

“I didn’t know new ghosts looked so… real,” Harry said. A shiver ran up his arms at the thought of it.

“I’ve read about that somewhere,” Hermione said, nodding, “but I’ve never met a new ghost, myself. The only ghosts I’ve talked to have been the Hogwarts ghosts, and they’re mostly all ancient.”

“Besides Myrtle,” Harry said. “But she is over fifty years old.”

“That little girl’s only a few months old,” Ron said.

A silence fell over them all.

Hermione sat with her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s horrible,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “But the weird thing is, Malfoy’s got something to do with these ghosts. Didn’t he say he’s been talking to them?” he asked Ron.

Ron nodded. “He’s turned frightfully odd this year.”

“Why would he be talking to the ghosts?” Hermione wondered, her face contemplative.

“Beats me,” Ron said. “They’re not very interesting.”

“I’m sure they’ve got loads of interesting things to share,” Hermione said. “Think of all the stories you can accumulate in a few hundred years.”

“Really, like what? ‘I floated to one side of the castle today, then I floated back to the other side… and then I floated back again.’ It’s not like they go anywhere.”

“But they see everything,” Harry said. “I don’t know what that means, or… what that could mean for Malfoy. But he’s definitely talking to them for a reason.”

He doubted Malfoy would just go around talking to the ghosts just to be pleasant and conversational. He knew Malfoy too well, and that wasn’t him. He had a motive.

“I need to find out what he wants from them,” Harry said.

“You can’t be sure that anything’s going on,” Hermione said. “Besides, I don’t know if you should spend all your time worrying about Malfoy and following him around.”

“I’m not going to follow him around.”

Hermione tilted her head at him and gave him a long look.

“I’m not!”

“All I’m saying is, what’s the point?”

Truthfully, Harry didn’t know how to answer that. When he opened his mouth, there was no instant rebuttal that came out. He didn’t know what he was expecting to achieve with an investigation into Malfoy other than purely to sate his curiosity. Somehow, he didn’t think Hermione would accept that as the correct answer.

“He might be doing something dangerous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know! But no one listened to me in sixth year when I thought Malfoy was up to something—and he was! You think I’m wasting my time again, but maybe it’s you who should be listening to me when I say I have a gut feeling about him.”

Hermione sighed. “Fine. I won’t get in your way. Even though, just to be clear, I do not think this is a repeat of sixth year.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong. I just know how I feel about him.”

Ron lowered his voice. “How _do_ you feel about him?”

Harry’s pulse spiked. “I… I think he sucks!” He bunched up the semi-scratchy blanket in his fists. “Obviously. You know that.”

Hermione put her hand on his knee. “We have to get back to work, Harry. There’s still a lot to do. But I’ll be right over there,” she pointed to the storage pantry near Pomfrey’s office, “taking inventory. If you need me, just call.”

She went back to her task, and Ron left to return to the East Wing where they were still assessing the scope of the damage.

Harry laid back and closed his eyes. If he was going to be stuck here for hours by himself, he might as well try and sleep. It’s not like he had anything else to do.

Was Malfoy back in the East Wing, too? He should have asked Ron before he left. He said Malfoy didn’t get hurt, so he could very well go back to work. Harry wished he could go back to work. It was so boring to sit here doing nothing.

He opened his eyes, resigned to the fact that he was not going to fall asleep. He had too many things on his mind to let him relax enough. For one thing, he was dying to find out more about who Matilda Weatherstaff was.

He had an idea. Tentatively, he sat up and determined he felt well enough not to fall over. He only had a slight headache, so he should be okay to move around. He unwound the linen wraps from his head and stepped out of bed.

His back started to sting as soon as he began walking. There must be lacerations from the stones that had yet to heal fully. Plus, the nearly-healed wound on the back of his head from where he’d been knocked out was still tender to the touch. But all in all, he was alright. In a mirror, he checked himself out and saw he looked tired, but not too worse for wear.

He snuck out of the hospital wing easily. Since the eighth years were busy with the restoration project and the younger years were all in class, there was hardly anyone walking the halls who might stop him. Quickly, he made his way to the first floor girl’s lavatory.

It was odd to see that this bathroom hadn’t changed at all. It looked like it hadn’t even been touched by the war. He supposed that was good news for its primary resident.

He tried to tread carefully. “Myrtle?” he asked, his voice echoey against the tiled walls.

He walked closer to her stall.

“Myrtle, are you there?”

He found her stall empty, and the lid of the toilet shut.

He reached out, slowly lifting the lid. Inside, Myrtle’s big eyes blinked up from the drainpipe.

“There you are,” Harry said.

Myrtle screeched and flew out of the toilet bowl so fast, she sprayed Harry with toilet water. He yelled out in disgust and stepped out of the stall. By the sinks, he grabbed a wad of paper towels and dabbed at the wet spots on his shirt.

“You know,” Myrtle said, with her hands on her hips, “when someone shuts the toilet lid, it means they do not want to be disturbed!”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that I have to talk to you. I need to ask you about something.”

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Myrtle said, her brow unfurrowing as she gazed up and down Harry’s body. He felt the urge to step back a few paces. “You haven’t come to visit me in years. Why should I help you now, after you’ve forgotten all about me?” She sniffed and crossed her arms.

“I’ve been very busy. There was a war, you see.”

“Oh, so a _war_ is more important than I am?”

“Sort of.”

She huffed. “Well… I suppose I can forgive you. You’ve gotten older, by the way.” She flew around him, circling his body. She swept a freezing hand over his bicep, making him shiver. “And you’ve gotten... stronger.” She giggled.

Harry cleared his throat. “Right. So can you help me, Myrtle?”

“Hmmm…” She placed a finger over her smirking lips. “Possibly I could. But what will you do for me?”

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a wise idea. Myrtle was a pain in the arse, and Harry had a horrid feeling she was going to ask him to show her his dick or something. He didn’t have time to be sexually harassed by odd, perverted ghosts.

“I… I can help you… clean your toilet?” Damn it, he still didn’t know any cleaning spells. He really should learn some.

“No, I like it dirty.”

Disgusting…. Harry crinkled his nose. He was scared to ask, but he didn’t really have a choice. “What do you want?” If she asked him for something inappropriate, he was going to tell her nevermind and go find a different ghost.

Myrtle bit her bottom lip and hovered there for a long moment. “What I _really_ want is something I’m not sure anyone can give me.”

Oh god, it was sex, wasn’t it? Harry sighed and forced himself to ask. “What is that?”

Myrtle shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, then let out a long sigh. “I want the Bloody Baron to fall in love with me.”

Huh?! Harry’s eyebrows shot up. Well, that was surprising. Frankly, it was an incredible relief. He had honestly thought she was going to ask him to take off his pants—he recalled the time in fourth year when she had spied on him naked in the Prefects' bathroom. But this was nothing like that. Although, it did pose its own problems.

“I think he’s already in love with somebody else,” Harry said, recalling something about Helena Ravenclaw.

Rage worked itself into Myrtle’s expression, and she balled her fists up at her sides and made like she was going to scream again.

“Wait, wait!” Why were ghosts so goddamn screamy? “I can’t be sure. It’s just something I heard. But you know that rumours are often not true.”

“Oh, this one is,” Myrtle said with a sneer. “He used to love someone… She lives in this castle, actually. But this year, he’s finally given up on her. Now I just need to get him to notice me. Nobody ever notices me!”

“I’m sure he does! Listen, I don’t know what I can do about it, since I’ve never spoken to the Bloody Baron before. Maybe you should get someone in Slytherin house to help you with that?”

“I do know someone in that house, and he promised me he would mention me to the Baron.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

“He and I have been friends for years now.” She grinned. “He’s a very nice boy.”

Harry wondered… Could she be talking about Draco?

“So has he helped?”

“No.” Her face fell. “I asked him to get me a love potion to use on the Baron, but he said it doesn’t work on ghosts.”

Harry was growing impatient. He had come to Myrtle thinking she would know Matilda Weatherstaff best, seeing as they were both girls and had both died at a young age. He figured Myrtle might have befriended her or at least been up to date on the ghost gossip. But this was the last time he was coming to her for help with anything, as she was incredibly frustrating.

“What I need to know is, have you heard of Matilda Weatherstaff? I believe she’s a new ghost at Hogwarts.”

Myrtle bared her teeth. “You want to know about _her_?”

“So you do know her!”

“Of course I know her, she tried to come into my toilet and I had to tell her off. Draco asks about her all the time, too!” She made another pathetic little sniff. “I’m starting to think you two like her better than me.”

So Draco _was_ the Slytherin friend she was referring to! And he had also been asking about Matilda.

“Who is she?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Myrtle shrugged. “She’s no one special. Just some girl who died last year in this so-called war you people are always talking about. Actually, there are loads of new ghosts from that. They are quite annoying.”

“What does Draco want with her?”

“He wants me to tell him where her body is, but I keep telling him, _I don’t know_.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You mean… Her body is still somewhere here, at Hogwarts? It hasn’t been recovered yet?”

“I suppose not. But who cares! I’m so sick of talking about Matilda Weatherstaff. Doesn’t anyone care about me?”

It was horrible to think about. Matilda’s body was never found after the war. Her family must be devastated, unable to find her physical remains and give her a proper burial. It was already hard enough to have lost their little girl, but then to never have recovered her...

“Oh, why don’t you just leave me alone!” Myrtle sulked, flying back to her stall. “Go away and let me be miserable in peace!” He heard a splash as she dove back into the toilet.

Harry was more than glad to leave her. He hurried back up to the eighth year tower, glad that no one else was around. The common room was empty, as were the dorms. He would have some time to himself to think. Also, he had to shower after being doused with toilet water.

 

 

><

 

 

The first thing he did after his shower was go to the library. Old issues of the _Daily Prophet_ were archived in the news section, and he had to look over the previous months again. He had been reading the _Prophet_ consistently that summer, but perhaps he had missed something about the battle casualties.

He set multiple large stacks of the newspaper around him at a long wooden table. He deliberately chose a spot hidden in a corner behind a wide bookshelf. Madam Pince eyed him oddly when she saw him carrying so many issues of the newspaper, but she was too busy mending books to worry about what he was doing. Not that it was any crime to do archival research.

He started from the beginning. The Battle of Hogwarts has taken place on May 2nd, so he picked up the paper for May 3rd. He hadn’t thought about how difficult it would be to read this again. He scanned every single headline in the issue, looking for stories relating to war casualties, and he found many. Reading through those articles was like being transported back to that day, and he found himself weighed down with sadness.

There was an article about the bodies lined up in the Great Hall, and Harry could see Fred’s face as he died in front of him. He also saw Lupin and Tonks lying side by side.

He forced himself to re-read all the articles about the dead, but he didn’t come across any mention of unrecovered bodies or of Matilda Weatherstaff in any of the May issues. Looking up at the clock, he saw he had been sitting there for two hours.

Heaving a sigh, he decided he might as well skip lunch and just get this done. He pushed the May stack out of the way, then he picked up June 1st.

The front page was about him, and with a roll of his eyes, he flipped to page two. Just then, someone came up behind him.

“Taking a trip down memory lane, Potter?” Malfoy stood there looking pristine, like the events of the morning hadn’t happened. He’d probably returned to his room sometime after Harry had left for the library and changed into a clean shirt and put more hair product on.

Harry looked down at the spread of newspapers before him. “Sort of. I’m looking for something.” He scanned Malfoy’s body, taking in the way he stood with his hands casually thrown into his pockets. “You look good. I mean—you look like you didn’t get hurt.” He swallowed. “That’s good.”

“Yes…” Malfoy shifted on his feet, looking away. “About that. I went to the hospital wing to find you but, obviously, you weren’t there. Pomfrey’s furious, by the way.”

“You were looking for me?” Harry couldn’t help grinning. For so long, he’d been the one looking for Malfoy and getting the cold shoulder. But Malfoy was searching him out for a change.

“Don’t look so pleased, Potter.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, here I am. What did you want me for?”

Malfoy swallowed hard, then looked around as if to make sure they were alone. When he looked back at Harry, his cheeks were turning pink. “I… I just wanted to say…” He scowled. “ _Thanks_.”

Harry bit his lip to stop himself grinning so hard. His stomach was flooded with warm, pleasant tingling.

“You almost killed yourself,” Malfoy added snappily. “But I suppose that’s what you do best.”

“You’re welcome, Malfoy.”

He held Malfoy’s gaze, feeling the air get stuffy in the dim alcove.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Well, now that that’s over with, I have to go.”

“Wait!” Harry kicked out the chair next to him. “Sit down for a minute. There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“I have work to do.”

“No you don’t, we haven’t even got proper classes this year. Besides, school’s just started.”

“It’s not classwork I’m doing, it’s… something else.”

“Oh? Maybe I can help.” So Malfoy had come to the library to work on his secret mission.

“You know what, Potter? I’m getting kind of sick of you trying to help me.”

“Well, that’s strange, because usually people appreciate help.”

“Maybe I just don’t need _yours._ ”

“Oh yeah? You never know, I might be just the person who can help you with… whatever it is you’re doing. Why don’t you try me.” When Malfoy made to turn and leave again, Harry insisted. “I’m serious!”

“You really don’t take no for an answer, do you, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “I can be really determined.”

“You mean stubborn.”

Harry patted the back of the chair beside him, and Malfoy eyed it. Shaking his head, he sat down. Harry didn’t remove his arm, which was thrown across the back of the seat.

Malfoy turned his head to look at him. Their faces were inches apart, and that woodsy cologne was soft and inviting. That was the second time that day Harry had found himself so close to Malfoy’s lips.

Something scraped behind them, and Harry removed his arm immediately. They looked around and saw it was only someone removing a book from the other side of the bookcase. The person left a few seconds later.

Harry faced forward in his seat, his heart pumping. “So,” he said, “what are you looking for?”

“A map of Hogwarts.” Malfoy’s cheeks were even pinker than before. “So you see, there’s not much you can do besides point me toward the map section. And I already know where that is.”

“But why do you need a map?” Harry thought he might have an idea, remembering what Myrtle had told him. Draco had been asking her if she knew the location of a certain body.

“I’m looking for something.”

“Do you mean, someone?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened.

“The girl from the East Wing—Matilda Weatherstaff.”

“How did you know that?” A frown was beginning to form over Malfoy’s mouth. Even his frown was mesmerizing.

Harry tried to think of a roundabout way of explaining himself, without having to admit how interested he was in what Malfoy was up to. But his mind was drawing a blank. The alcove was hot and stuffy, and he couldn’t think. Maybe he should just be honest.

“The truth is, I’ve been wondering about her myself. I even went to Myrtle asking about her.”

Understanding dawned over Malfoy’s face, and he laughed wryly. “She told you I was looking for her. And I thought Myrtle was good at keeping secrets.”

“In fact,” Harry said, “I’m trying to find out more about her now.” He indicated to the mass of papers in front of him.

Malfoy slid the June 1st paper aside, inspecting the one underneath. “I see.” Then he straightened up and ruffled through the July stack. “Let me save you some time.”

He sorted through them until he found the paper for July 15th. He pulled it out, flipped through the pages, and then finally set it down in front of Harry.

“There,” he said, pointing to the headline.

It read, _The Lost Souls of the Second Wizarding War_.

“It lists all the missing people from the war,” Malfoy said. “I was reading this the morning after my trial ended, over eggs and a cup of tea. Mother and I were staying at the townhouse in London that whole week. I picked up the Prophet against my better judgement. I had been trying to avoid looking at any news, but this time it was just sitting there, so I opened it up. I came across this story.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t even explain how I felt. Any happiness I might have had for avoiding Azkaban seemed to evaporate that morning.”

He looked up at Harry, his eyes brewing with darkness. Harry’s chest hurt to look at him, because something in his gaze reminded Harry of his own darkness. The kind that crept up late at night when he lay in bed alone, and the room was too quiet, and there was nothing to distract his mind. Times like that gave rise to something that felt dangerously close to despair.

Malfoy’s voice was quiet. “She was the only person whose body remained unrecovered after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“But what about all the new ghosts? Apparently there are many.”

“All their bodies have been found. Matilda Weatherstaff was listed in this article as a missing person. In a later issue, they took her off the list. They knew she was dead because, as they started to restore Hogwarts, her ghost was spotted.”

“But still no body.”

Malfoy shook his head.

“But, where could it be? Surely they’ve searched the castle.”

“Of course they have. Her parents went ballistic. They even commissioned that new Head Auror, Robards, to put together a formal search party. Even so, no one found her. But I have a suspicion.” Malfoy leaned in. “I think Matilda knows where her body is. I think she’s just scared and confused and doesn’t want to tell anyone.”

Harry’s heart was beating against his chest. The possibility was so ghastly, he was both horrified and titillated.

“You’ve been following her case pretty closely, haven’t you?” Harry said.

Malfoy looked down at the table. “Yes. It’s sort of the reason I came back.”

“You want to find her.” Harry felt stunned. He hadn’t had a clue why Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts, and in fact, he had been wondering only the other day during the welcome feast. Well, now his question was answered; and it was a shock because of all the reasons he could have guessed, this was most definitely not one of them. “But… why?”

Malfoy looked pained, and he turned his gaze to the ceiling. After a few seconds, he looked into Harry’s eyes. His bottom lip quivered momentarily, but he let out a breathy laugh. “It’s my fault she’s dead, Potter.” He let out a stream of breath. “She’s the only first year who didn’t escape Hogwarts. And the only one who’s still missing. If it wasn’t for me…”

Suddenly, his expression hardened. A switch had flipped and the open, vulnerable boy in front of him was turning back into the angry one Harry was used to seeing these days. Malfoy was scowling again.

Harry felt the urge to reach out and touch him, as though he could physically pull him back out, but it was no use. The connection was already broken.

“I don’t know why I’m sitting here telling you any of this,” Malfoy said. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” He pushed his chair back and got up.

Harry got up, too. “Are you going to find a map?”

“Yes. But don’t follow me.”

“Malfoy.” He reached out and almost touched his hand, but Malfoy flinched away when he saw. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I already told you, Potter, I don’t need your help. Not unless you have a map that can somehow pinpoint people’s whereabouts.”

Harry started laughing. It was so obvious; how had he not thought of it before?

“What’s so funny?” Malfoy snapped.

“You won’t believe it, but I do have a map like that.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious, Malfoy. Don’t waste your time with the library maps, they won’t have all the secret passages and hidden rooms, anyway. You need to be able to see places no one else has thought to check yet.”

“I was joking. That kind of map doesn’t exist.”

“Just, please, come up to my room with me.”

Malfoy hesitated.

“I promise, you won’t regret it.” Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I’m very stubborn, remember?”

A hint of a smile tugged at Malfoy’s lips. He pressed them together. “Fine. But this better be worth it.”

“Trust me.” He stepped closer. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

Malfoy’s lips parted. He gazed at Harry searchingly, and it seemed like he was going to say something. Instead, he reached out and pushed Harry aside, stepping past him.

“Let’s go, Potter.”

Walking side by side with Malfoy through the halls made Harry feel like he was doing something devious, or like at any moment, someone was going to give him detention. He quite liked the feeling.

It was especially thrilling since, for months, he hadn’t been able to get so much as a peep out of Malfoy. He’d gone from ignoring Harry to including him in a very important mission, and Harry couldn’t help but feel like it was a bit of a victory.

When they reached the dormitories, Harry led Malfoy into his room. He closed the door behind them, and he realized just how quiet it was.

He pointed to his trunk. “It’s right in here.”

Malfoy stood silently by the door as Harry went over to his trunk and knelt beside it. He wished Malfoy would just come sit on the bed, or even at his desk. Anything to make it less awkward. He rummaged through his trunk as quickly as possible.

There is was, folded up and tucked away at the bottom.

“It’s right here,” he said, pulling it out. He stood up and walked to his bed, sitting down at the edge.

Hesitatingly, Malfoy came over and slowly sat down next to him.

Harry handed him the map.

“This?” Malfoy said.

“Well, you have to open it up.”

Malfoy unfolded it bit by bit. When he got it open, he turned it over and then back again, staring at the page. “Are you taking the piss, Potter?” He turned on Harry. “This is a blank piece of parchment!”

“No, watch this.” Harry grinned, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the map. “You have to say, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’”

He watched Malfoy’s face as the map came to life, drinking in his reaction. His grey eyes widened and he took in a tiny, sharp breath. Malfoy watched the lines on the parchment draw out every nook and cranny of the castle and grounds, and Harry watched Malfoy.

“The Marauder’s Map,” Malfoy said, reading the title at the top.

“Yes. And look at the dots.”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up. “Wow…” He looked up at Harry, and the brightness on his face made Harry’s heart flutter. “Potter, this is… Incredible.”

 _I made it myself_ , he wanted to say, but unfortunately he had not. But the fact that he had impressed Malfoy this much was enough.

“Is this really everyone at Hogwarts, right now?” Malfoy went back to inspecting the map, his eyes glued to it.

“Yeah, it shows the location of anyone on Hogwarts grounds. Even the ghosts.”

“Potter, this is brilliant!”

Harry grinned. “I told you it would be worth it.”

“This is more than worth it.” Malfoy traced a finger over the East Wing. “Look, everyone’s still there.”

Harry looked closer, trying to pinpoint the ghost’s corridor and the room that had collapsed that morning. “And there she is: Matilda Weatherstaff.” Then a thought occurred to him, and his smile fell. “Actually, I’m not sure if this will work, after all.”

“What? Why not?”

“She’s already showing up on the map as a ghost. Would her body show up as well?”

Malfoy licked his lips, thinking. “You mean, the map has already labeled her.”

“That, and I’m starting to think it only shows people who are alive. Technically, ghosts are dead, but—”

“—they’re sentient.”

“Exactly.” Harry nodded. “We’re looking for a body, which is just… a body.”

“I see.” Malfoy turned and spread the map over Harry’s bed. He rolled onto his stomach. “I would still like to see if we can find it.”

Harry had no problem with that, and he lay down on his stomach, too. He tried not to think about how bizarre it was for Malfoy to be lying down on his bed, or how that made him feel. He could hardly afford to get a hard-on right now and freak Malfoy out completely. Besides, he had to find a way to rid himself of this gross obsession with Malfoy that had inexplicably emerged this year. It had taken over his brain.

It seemed like they were lying there for hours scouring the map for another Matilda Weatherstaff dot. Harry’s eyes were aching.

“I don’t think we’re gonna find her,” he said, rolling off and stepping onto the floor. He had to stretch his legs. After hours of sitting in the library and now hours of lying here, he had to move his muscles. He should probably go and work out. “Besides, I’m starving. I have to eat, and then I think I’ll go to the gym and get some work in.”

When he looked back, he caught Malfoy staring at him and then looking away. Had he been checking out his arse?

Harry’s face heated up.

“You work out a lot, don’t you?” Malfoy said as he continued perusing the map.

He _had_ been checking him out!

“Oh, you’ve noticed?”

Malfoy smirked to himself.

He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He tried not to read too much into it. It was just friendly banter.

“Hey, you can take the map if you want,” Harry said. “Keep looking over it. I don’t need it right now, so give it back any time.”

Malfoy lifted his head. “Really?” Harry nodded. “Thanks, Potter.” He got up, too, picking the map up and folding it away. “You know what I’m thinking? We have to alter the map’s properties.”

That didn’t sound right. “Alter it? No way, that map belonged to my dad. I’m not messing with it.”

“This was your father’s map?”

“Yeah, he and his friends created it. Remus, Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew.”

“Shit. Pettigrew? I never knew that oaf was your father’s friend.”

“It’s a long story. I can tell you about it another time. If you want?”

“Sure.” Malfoy sounded sincere.

They left Harry’s room and began walking through the common room. Harry had expected it to still be empty, but Lavender and Zabini were there, sitting by the fireplace. They were talking and laughing with their heads close together. When Lavender spotted Harry, she waved at him.

“Hey, you two! Are you finished with your area, as well?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he walked over to them. “Er… Not quite. We had a bit of a scare.”

“What happened?”

“The East Wing is extremely damaged,” Malfoy said. “Just poking around over there makes walls and things collapse. Or ceilings, in our case.”

Lavender gasped. “Is everyone alright?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Harry said.

“This one’s supposed to be in the hospital wing,” Malfoy said, nudging Harry with his elbow.

Harry wasn’t used to Malfoy touching him, and it made his skin tingle.

Zabini smirked, but not maliciously. “Got yourself in trouble already, Potter?”

“I guess so. I need a chaperone.”

“Good thing you have Draco as a partner.” Zabini winked.

“He wasn’t much help, though, was he? I still got sent to the hospital wing.”

Actually, he’d made it pretty impossible for Malfoy to help him, seeing as he’d thrown himself on top of him. Zabini didn’t need to know the details. Though he’d likely find out in due time.

“We’re going to go get something to eat,” Harry said. “See you later.”

He hadn’t asked Malfoy if he was coming with him, but he was pleased to see Malfoy didn’t object.

It was in between lunch and dinnertime, but there was usually always something available in the Great Hall for those in between hours. Harry planned to duck in and grab something to hold him over until evening.

“What did you mean by alter the map, anyway?” he asked Malfoy as they headed that way together. “Alter it how?”

“Just, to be able to see dead bodies.”

Harry thought about how that might work. The map was already crowded with dots, as it was. He wondered how many more dots would pop up if they were to add dead bodies. How many dead people were even buried on Hogwarts grounds? He only knew of Dumbledore, and he really did not want to see a dot labeling Dumbledore’s remains. The thought made him feel kind of sick.

“I wouldn’t know how to do that kind of magic, anyway,” Harry said. “I don’t even know how they built the map in the first place. What kind of magic they used. I’ve never looked into it.”

“It’s incredibly sophisticated. I would love to learn the mechanism behind it.”

“You sound like Hermione,” Harry said, grinning.

“Maybe she can help,” Malfoy said hopefully.

“No, she wouldn’t want to. She’s pretty focused on the restoration thing right now and I practically had to beg her to help me find out more about—” _Tapestries_. “Something else I was looking into.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to do it ourselves.”

Even though Malfoy had just seamlessly included him in his plans, Harry wasn’t happy about the idea of altering the map. “Look, you can find out how they made it, but you can’t alter it. I don’t want to ruin the map. What if we do things to it and change it, and then it never goes back to how it was?”

He really didn’t want it to get wrecked by shoddy attempts at re-working the magic. He couldn’t be sure Malfoy knew what he was doing, or that he wouldn’t fuck it up. This was one of the few possessions Harry had that belonged to his dad, Sirius, and Remus. He couldn’t risk it.

“Actually,” he said, “give it back.”

“What?” Malfoy stopped walking. “No, you said I could have it.”

“I said you could _borrow_ it.”

“Well, I haven’t borrowed it yet. I need to keep looking it over.”

Harry sighed. “This map is _very important_ to me.”

“I got that.” Malfoy frowned. “I’m not going to do anything to it. It’s just… If I were to try…”

“Give it back!” Harry held his hand out.

“I’m good at this kind of thing, Potter!” Malfoy stepped away from him. “I figured out the cabinet all by myself last year.”

“Oh, great. So you’re really good at Dark Magic. That makes me feel completely at ease.”

“Nothing was Dark about it, I was only repairing a broken cabinet!”

“And look how well that turned out.”

Malfoy’s mouth twisted into a hateful scowl and his cheeks drained of colour. “Fuck you, Potter.” He pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket and threw it onto the floor.

Harry picked it up quickly, and when he got back up, Malfoy was already stomping away around a corner.

Fine. He could leave. Harry didn’t care.

Harry continued to the Great Hall where he sat down at the eighth year table and ate a bacon sandwich by himself. He was going to have a long session with the punching bag.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry disintegrated another Sparkler. They’d been at it all week, going through each classroom one at a time. This was classroom number four, and they were all working on it together. All eight of them. After what happened in the ghost corridor with the collapsing ceiling, Bill decided it would be best if they didn’t split up anymore.

“Deletrius,” Harry said, sending a Sparkler that popped out of the blackboard up in smoke.

Malfoy was working on a pile of chairs nearby, where he was sorting through them. He picked one up and tossed it aside, put out another Sparkler, and then moved on to the next. Harry tried to catch his eye, but when Malfoy noticed, he turned his back fully to him.

Things had gone back to the way they’d been before. Just when they’d made some progress and Malfoy opened up, everything went to shit and Harry found himself being ignored again.

What bothered him the most was that he couldn’t stop himself from caring. He shouldn’t care about Malfoy. He shouldn’t think about him all the time or worry about what he was doing. What had happened over the summer to get his name crossed off the family tree. Whether or not he had made any progress on locating Matilda Weatherstaff's body; or how impressed he was, despite himself, that Malfoy was undertaking such a thing.

Or how much he liked the look of Malfoy’s hair when it was wet after a shower. Now that they were living in the same dormitories, Harry got to witness such things.

And the angrier he got, the more he wanted Malfoy. Last night, he wanked over the thought of holding him down and fucking his face.

A yelp made Harry jump and whip around, pointing his wand.

Seamus was shouting and flailing in front of a burning globe. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Sue Li said a spell that doused the globe with water, putting the fire out. Most of the globe was still intact, but it was smoking somewhere near Greenland.

“What happened?” Harry said.

Seamus laughed sheepishly. “I might have got a little too aggressive with a Sparkler.”

Harry looked at Ron, who rolled his eyes, and they both turned back to their work.

“Be careful, would you, Finnigan?” said Smith. “We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Harry noticed Malfoy’s shoulders stiffen.

“I don’t know,” said Terry Boot in a loud whisper. “I’d rather enjoy seeing Malfoy squashed under a collapsing ceiling.” He pretended to say it only to Smith, but it was obvious he knew very well the whole room could hear him. He and Smith snickered at each other.

Malfoy tossed another chair out of his pile rather aggressively, and it clattered over the stone floor.

Goyled approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning into his ear. They were close enough for Harry to hear his low intonation.

“Do you want me to say something?” Goyle asked.

“No,” Malfoy snapped, and Goyle pulled his hand away.

They worked for a little while longer in relative silence. The only words out of people’s mouths were either Protego or Deletrius as they encountered a continuous string of Sparklers. So far, they hadn’t come across anything more insidious than that, which Harry counted as a good thing.

However, it was getting kind of boring.

When it was time to break for lunch, Harry and Ron walked back with Seamus and Sue Li. Seamus was excited about the approaching Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the semester. He and Dean had made big plans to visit the Three Broomsticks, and now that they were of age, they didn’t intend to drink Butterbeer. Harry was excited for this weekend, eager to get out of the castle and forget about the East Wing for a while. Plus, he was looking forward to getting pissed off his head just as much as any bloke his age.

 

><

 

 

That night in bed, Harry tossed and turned. Ron had snuck off with Hermione hours ago and he still hadn’t come back. Not that he needed Ron beside him to be able to fall asleep, but the quiet in the room was only making it easier for his thoughts to multiply all over the place. He couldn’t get himself to settle down enough to drift off to sleep.

He gave up and got out of bed. At his desk, he grabbed a piece of parchment and jotted down a note.

 

>  
> 
> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _I heard what Smith and Boot said today. You don’t have to let them talk about you like that. I’m glad you came back at Hogwarts, I don’t care what those tossers say._
> 
> _HP  
>  _

 

He didn’t know why he wrote it, but the urge to speak to Malfoy was strong. He folded it into a paper airplane and sent it off to Malfoy’s window.

He got back into bed, but brought his quill and inkpot to his bedside table and left his window open. Minutes passed by without a return letter, and the room was starting to fill with the chilly outdoor air. He pulled his blanket up and sighed, figuring Malfoy wasn’t going to reply.

But just then, an origami bird flew in on the breeze. Harry grinned and plucked it out of the air.

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _Thanks for the approval. I really needed that._
> 
> _Also, it might be easier to get into fights if I didn’t have expulsion hanging over my head. Remember a little thing called probation? You should, as you were there._
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

 

It was the first time Malfoy had even acknowledged Harry’s presence at his trial. But after that little speech their first night back, Harry was fully aware Malfoy resented his help. He thought Harry was dangling his power in his face; maybe because that’s the sort of thing Malfoy would do if he were in Harry’s position. He couldn’t understand that Harry was not like that.

 

>  
> 
> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _Do you honestly think I’m trying to take the piss at you? Let’s try this: imagine the way a Slytherin would do things, and then reverse that completely. That’s me._
> 
> _HP  
>  _

 

Malfoy’s reply came quickly. 

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _Well since a Slytherin would do everything logically, and the reverse of logic is madness, that must mean you’re a raving lunatic. Just as I’ve always thought. Ha ha._
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

 

Harry smiled. He knew he was walking right into that one even before he sent it.

>  
> 
> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _Wow, you’re hilarious._
> 
> _Let’s try this game instead: Imagine someone trying to be nice to you, and then when you get the urge to say something shitty, don’t. Just say thanks, instead._
> 
> _HP  
>  _

 

He chuckled as he sent the letter away. That one should get under Malfoy’s skin. Despite how much Malfoy dished it out, he didn’t take very well to teasing. 

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _Yes, I know._
> 
> _I’ve thought of another game. This one’s much better: Get on your broom, fly over the Great Lake, and then jump off._
> 
> _If you drown, you win._
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

 

Harry had to summon a new sheet of parchment since they were running out of room.

>  
> 
> _Ouch... Do you really want me dead? Because I’d probably haunt you, just letting you know._
> 
> _HP  
>  _

 

When he saw Malfoy’s next reply, his stomach flipped.

>  
> 
> _Oh god, you’d be obsessed with me even in death? Will I ever be rid of you?_
> 
> _D. Malfoy  
>  _

 

Harry’s pulse raced. He was being ballsy, but he penned out the word anyway.

 

> _Never._  

 

And then, on an insane whim, he added:

> _  
> I can’t get you out of my fucking head.  
>  _

 

After twenty minutes without a reply, Harry shut his window. His stomach was all in knots, and he was definitely not going to able to sleep now.

 

><

 

 

Saturday morning was clear and bright, and everyone was excited for the trip to Hogsmeade. Because it was chilly, Harry wrapped a gold and burgundy striped scarf around his neck and threw on his fur-trimmed, navy blue parka.

Ron came out wearing a fur cossack hat.

“Really?” Harry said.

“Shut up.”

“We’re in Scotland in September, not Moscow in the dead of winter.”

“Hermione bought it for me, okay? I love it.” His cheeks were as red as his hair and he was frowning.

“You know Seamus and Dean are going to give you shit about it, don’t you?”

They joined the rest of the eighth years in the common room and everyone walked down to the Great Hall together. Harry was probably the only one who noticed that Malfoy wasn’t among them. He tried not to think about him and looked forward to the pancakes and bacon he planned to wolf down in a few minutes.

Breakfast was somehow more delicious that morning, probably because of the excitement in the air. The hall was still abuzz with happy chatter by the time breakfast was finished. It was then that Malfoy slunk in, beelining to his friends just in time to grab a piece of toast from the center of the table. He didn’t even sit down, just stood there waiting in his double-breasted camel coloured wool coat and black leather gloves, his hair side-swept like it had been kissed by an elegant gust of wind (whereas Harry’s hair looked more like it had gone through a hurricane). Harry’s stomach dropped when he saw him, and he abandoned the rest of his pancakes.

The time came to leave for Hogsmeade and everyone lined up by year in the Entrance Hall, just like past years. Harry and Ron joined Seamus, Neville, and Dean and they all walked down together. They did their best to make fun of Ron’s hat the entire way.

When they got to Hogsmeade, the rest of the eighth year class caught up to them and everyone convened to discuss where they’d go first.

“Goyle and I are going to The Garden Gnome,” Neville said. It was a flower and outdoor plant shop at the end of the town, where the owners grew their stock in their adjacent farm.

Harry raised his eyebrows, and Seamus and Dean exchanged twin looks of shock. Goyle was still standing a few feet away saying goodbye to his friends. “Since when do you hang out with Goyle?” he asked quietly.

“We’re roommates. We got to know each other better this year, and it turns out we have a lot in common. Apparently, he did a lot of gardening at his mum’s house over the summer. Finds it very therapeutic.”

“I can’t imagine Goyle planting daisies,” Ron said.

“Actually,” Neville said, “it was mostly carnations and angelonia.”

Goyle approached them, nodded at Harry and Ron, and then he and Neville were off. Hermione and Padma walked by just then.

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked. “I thought we were planning to get a pint.”

“It’s eleven in the morning, Ron!” Hermione swung her arm through Padma’s. “We can meet up for a drink later this evening. Padma and I are going to check out Ceridwen’s Cauldrons. We need a few more if we’re going to finish all the brewing we need to restock the hospital wing.”

“It sounds like you’re doing work on your day off,” Ron said.

“Work is fun!” Padma said brightly, and the two of them headed down the main street.

Ron shook his head. “She’s found another Hermione to be friends with.”

“I don’t care what time it is,” Seamus said. “I’m off to the pub.”

“Me, too,” Dean agreed.

“We’ll meet you there!” Ron called after them.

They meandered their way to Honeydukes, where they found Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein buying sweets. Harry thought about stocking up on chocolate frogs, but he decided not to since they were going to the pub after and he didn’t want to be carrying them all night.

The day passed by quickly, turning into a dusky evening, and soon it was time for the younger students to return to the castle. The eighth years flocked to The Three Broomsticks instead. Dean and Seamus were already smashed, having only left the pub once to visit Zonko’s Joke Shop, and then returning to continue drinking.

As Susan Bones sat down at the large, circular booth, a loud fart noise emanated from the seat. She squealed and sprang up as Seamus and Dean burst out in laughter.

“Invisible whoopie cushion,” Dean said when he’d caught his breath.

“You two are as good as a couple of twelve-year-olds!” Susan went to sit down next to Hannah Abbott on the other side, who chastised them for being juvenile.

Harry went to the bar to grab drinks for him, Ron, and Hermione. He said hello to Madam Rosmerta and ordered two pints and a dandelion wine. Just then, someone slinked up beside him; someone wearing strong floral perfume.

He turned his head to see Pansy Parkinson smiling at him. She leaned against the wooden bar, jutting her hip out.

“Can I get you a drink, Potter?”

Harry nodded at Rosmerta’s back. “Already got one, thanks.” Then he thought, and added, “Can I get you one, though?”

“Sure.” Parkinson grinned. “I’ll take a vodka cranberry. Cheers.”

“How about… anyone else? Are you sitting with anyone?” Since she was likely sitting with Malfoy, this was a convenient opportunity for him to go over to their table. If Harry was buying drinks, no one would argue with him.

“You mean Millicent? Yes, I’m sitting with her. She usually drinks whiskey on the rocks.”

Harry forced a smile, and when Rosmerta returned he said, “I’ll also have a vodka and cranberry juice and a whiskey, straight. Thanks.”

Parkinson laughed softly. “I’m also sitting with Draco, Blaise, and Greg, but they’re mostly set with drinks. They’ve been drinking since noon.”

Harry looked over her shoulder and saw the threesome, along with Bulstrode, crowded together in a small round table in the corner. Malfoy and Goyle were throwing back shots.

“Why don’t we all join up? Unitas House, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It sounds great for chants and sing-alongs, but I have a feeling some people don’t _really_ want us around.” She looked at him square in the eye. “I thought you might be one of those people, but now I know you’re not. You’re…” Her smile fell and she swallowed. “You’re pretty great, Potter. And I’m… I’m sorry.” She exhaled hard; they both knew what she was apologizing for. “I know it’s probably too little, too late. And this is hard for me, but I wanted to say it, because I really do regret how things happened. I hope you can forgive me, and especially forgive… others.”

“Parkinson, I—”

“Please, it’s Pansy.”

Harry nodded, remembering Lavender’s courage in the face of this year’s challenges. Accepting people into his circle who, only months ago, wanted him dead was not an easy thing to do. But seeing Lavender’s strength and capacity for forgiveness truly inspired him, and he knew that’s what he wanted, too.

Rosmerta brought the rest of the drinks and Pansy picked up hers and Bulstrode’s. “I’ll be sure to let her know who to thank for this.” She grinned coyly at him as she walked away.

Harry returned to his table and sat next to Ron and Hermione. He spotted Ron’s hand on her thigh under the table.

After an hour, they had each taken turns buying rounds, and Harry was on his third pint of lager. He had gotten so caught up in the revelry that he had barely stolen any looks at Malfoy at all. But when it was his turn to get the next, he saw Malfoy’s trim figure standing at the bar. He hastily rose from his seat and walked over to him.

His heart was beating, but he squared his shoulders and strode up beside him. He was acutely aware of the fact that Malfoy had not replied to his letter last night; the one that had revealed maybe a bit more than he should have. But fuck it—he knew what he wanted. And he had enough alcohol in him to compel him to act on it.

“Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked at him, his eyes overly bright. He slurred, “Potter.”

Shit, he was drunk. Way more drunk than Harry.

“Are you having a good time?”

Malfoy smirked. His eyes traveled slowly down and up Harry’s body, like they were caressing him. It sent a shiver up Harry’s spine.

“I’m having a _great_ time,” Malfoy drawled, looking Harry in the eye. He leaned in a little, but that might have just been him swaying.

Harry put his hand on the small of Malfoy’s back, steadying him. Their bodies brushed together.

Malfoy hummed when Harry’s hand touched him, and Harry rubbed his thumb in circles over Malfoy’s cashmere sweater. When had the pub suddenly gotten so hot?

“You have a lot of nerve, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Why’s that?”

“Coming over here,” Malfoy said, leaning his shoulder against Harry’s, “being all… big.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Big?” Malfoy was talking nonsense. He wondered how many of those shots he’d taken.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, clutching Harry’s bicep. Harry’s heart sped up like it was trying to exit his chest. “You’ve got really big.”

“Not too big. Not enough for the Auror Training Program.”

“Oh.” Malfoy smirked with that gorgeous fucking mouth of his. “You’re going to be an _Auror_.” His tone became playfully mocking. “A big, tough, Auror.”

Malfoy laughed, and he looked so much younger all of a sudden. The way he’d said that and the familiar sound of his laughter brought Harry back years. A sense of terrible, aching nostalgia gripped his chest, and he wanted to pull Malfoy close and kiss him.

But that was a bad idea. One, they were in a pub full of people. Two, this was Malfoy. Three, it was one thing to want to come all over someone’s face, but it was another thing altogether to want to kiss him. Harry blinked, confused as fuck, but too drink-ridden to think clearly about it. His feelings were a tangled mess.

“Wha’s wrong, Potter? Let me buy you a drink. What’re you drinking?”

“Lager.”

“One pint of lager!” Malfoy said to no one.

Harry waved to Rosmerta and indicated he’d take another, and she smiled and nodded, pouring him a glass. Harry took it and allowed Malfoy to throw some money down. He took a large gulp and it was cold and frothy, and wonderful.

Malfoy took the glass from him. Harry watched his throat move as he drank, wanting to press his face there, in the warm curve where Malfoy’s neck met his shoulder.

When Malfoy set the now half-drained glass down on the bar, his lips were wet. They shone in the pub light. He should use a napkin to get that tiny droplet of foam that clung to his top lip.

Harry reached out and cupped Malfoy’s jaw in his hand, then swiped his thumb across his lips. Malfoy’s lips parted, and Harry left his thumb there, just grazing the edge. He imagined putting it into Malfoy’s mouth and what Malfoy would look like sucking on it. His mouth was open just enough, his tongue moving as if he were about to say something.

Then he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting into it with his teeth. Harry quickly removed his hand. He realized he was half hard in his jeans. Damn it.

“Come with me, Potter.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He followed Malfoy across the pub, pulled like a magnet. Malfoy exited through the door that led to the bathroom hallway, and then the back door to the alley behind.

The chilly air hit Harry like a brick, and he suddenly felt awake. The hazy veil of drunkenness he had felt inside the pub, aided by the dim lights and the chatter of people, dissipated.

Malfoy pushed Harry’s back against the brick wall of the narrow alleyway, and Harry grunted at the impact. Malfoy’s palm remained flat against his chest, and Malfoy took the opportunity to move it around, openly feeling Harry up. Harry didn’t mind in the least, his skin tingling with desire everywhere Malfoy touched him.

“I know what you want, Potter.”

Harry swallowed. “Do you?”

Malfoy smiled and nodded.

“Tell me what I want.”

Malfoy chuckled softly. “You want this.” His other hand reached between Harry’s legs and grabbed Harry’s semi-hard cock.

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth. Shit, this was… happening? How was this possible? Malfoy refused to speak to him—ignored him for days. Malfoy hated him. Didn’t he?

Malfoy leaned in close to Harry’s ear. “You want,” he said slowly, “for me to worship you.”

“No!” Harry startled, but Malfoy’s hands pressed him against the wall. His grip tightened over Harry’s cock, and there’s no way he would move away from that. “That’s not true at all. I _hate_ when people are like that. I don’t want anyone to worship me, I—”

“Not anyone, Potter.” Malfoy looked at him through his lashes. “Me.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not true,” he repeated.

“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve wanted that for ages. You want me to say, ‘Thank you, Potter. Thank you _so much_ for everything.’”

The hand Malfoy had on his chest rose up to grip Harry by the chin.

“Look at me,” he said, forcing Harry’s head straight. He could only stare at Malfoy’s mouth as he spoke. “I’m so grateful.”

“Malfoy…” Harry’s cock was throbbing.

 _“I’m so grateful_ ,” he repeated so fervently, it could have been real. “You’ve saved my life so many times. I just want to thank you somehow.”

A bubble of insane laughter rose up in Harry’s chest. He ripped he head out of Malfoy’s grip. “You’re crazy,” he said weakly.

“Then why are you so damn hard?” Malfoy asked.

Harry swallowed. “I don’t know,” he gritted out.

“I do. You want _this_.”

Impossibly, incredibly, Malfoy slowly lowered himself to the ground in front of Harry, kneeling and looking up at him.

Harry’s jaw dropped and an embarrassing, high-pitched noise might have escaped him. But he couldn’t help it; the vision in front of him was beyond anything in his fantasies. Malfoy was actually kneeling with his face inches from Harry’s cock. That mouth was right there, so close, so painfully sexy.

Harry’s cock filled nearly instantly to full hardness. It did its best to pitch a tent in his fitted jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he said, his brain trying to come up with some reason, any reason, for him to latch back onto sanity and stop this. But Harry didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

Malfoy laughed. “Maybe a little. But it’s nothing I haven’t thought about sober.”

Harry’s breathe left him. “You’ve… thought about…”

“Oh, yes.” Malfoy’s fingers worked on the buttons and zipper of Harry’s jeans. “I’ve thought about it so much.” Harry couldn’t tell if his voice was mocking or sincere; it was somehow a mixture of both. “About how I want to repay you for saving my life.”

The moment his hands made contact with Harry’s cock, Harry’s brain stopped working altogether and he could give a damn if this were real or fake. It was happening. That’s all that mattered: this was happening, and Malfoy was right, it was the biggest fucking turn on of his life.

“I think the best way,” Malfoy was saying, “is to thank this big, hard cock first.” He stroked it up and down in the firm, warm grip of his fist.

Harry’s eyes fell shut and his jaw dropped as he exhaled hard. He was throbbing. It felt so, so good.

“You like that?” Malfoy swept his thumb over the slit, gathering precome and spreading it around the head.

“Oh… god, Malfoy. Fuck.”

Malfoy chuckled. “I think what you like most is what I’m saying. Don’t you, big boy?”

Harry let out a strangled sound.

“Mmm, you’re so big. Ever since I saw you in the shower that day, I’ve been thinking about your huge cock. How I want it. How I want to worship it.”

Harry’s hand flew to the top of Malfoy’s head, and this time Malfoy gasped. Harry gripped his hair tightly.

“Yeah,” Malfoy breathed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before looking up at Harry again.

“Get your mouth on it,” Harry said. It just came out, spilling from his gut.

Malfoy’s demeanor changed. He seemed to melt against Harry’s body, all sense of teasing gone in an instant. He looked Harry in the eye as he opened his mouth wide and placed his lips over the head of Harry’s cock.

Harry worried he might come just from looking at that. He bit his lip hard, breathing through the waves of desire that assaulted him.

Malfoy took just the tip in, lightly sucking it. His tongue against the underside of the head was silky and hot, and it drove Harry mad.

“Fuck yeah,” he said, letting himself babble whatever insane thing came to his mind. “You look so good like that. God, Malfoy, I’ve pictured you like this so many times, and you just look perfect.”

Malfoy shut his eyes and sucked harder, drawing more of Harry’s dick in. His pink lips stretched around the girth of the shaft. It looked obscene. It looked brilliant.

When his cock hit the back of Malfoy’s throat, Harry groaned and tightened his grip on his hair.

“Yeah, suck it. Show me how much you want it.”

Malfoy looked up, his eyes shining. He bobbed his head up and down on Harry’s cock, letting it hit the back of his throat occasionally and making strained, grunting noises. Harry wanted him to choke on it. He wanted to hear the sounds Malfoy would make then. He had half a mind to forced Malfoy’s head down, but he also liked what Malfoy was doing himself. He was working hard, drooling and licking and sucking.

Malfoy pulled off with a gasp, a line of spit connecting from his bottom lip to Harry’s shaft.

“Thank you, Potter,” he breathed.

Oh, fuck. Harry groaned, furrowing his brow against the tightening of his balls. He didn’t want to lose it just yet, but damn it, that was disgustingly hot.

Malfoy licked one long stripe from the base to the tip, licking up all his own saliva mixed with Harry’s precome. When he reached the tip, he sucked on the opening, and then pulled off. “Mmm,” he said, swallowing everything he’d just tasted.

“Get back on there,” Harry said breathily.

Malfoy complied, sucking him down to the base and then up again. He returned to his steady rhythm, hollowing his cheeks and working his cock relentlessly. He paused only to pull his own cock out, which Harry didn’t catch a glimpse of but could see Malfoy’s hand pumping it up and down.

Malfoy’s eyes watered, but he looked at Harry the whole time. Even when he opened his mouth wide and rested the head of Harry’s cock on his tongue.

Harry gripped himself and stroked. “Are you ready for it?”

Malfoy nodded with his tongue out. He dug his fingers into Harry’s thighs as he steadied himself.

“Take it, Malfoy.”

“Uh-huh,” Malfoy groaned, shutting his eyes when Harry started coming.

Harry kept stroking himself as he came into Malfoy’s mouth, his come pooling on his tongue. He tried to keep his eyes open for as much of it as possible, even though his mind was numb and he was tempted to shut his eyes tightly and lose himself in it. But he just couldn’t miss a second of this. Malfoy swallowed everything, coming back to suck on the head one more time and tonguing the opening for more.

When he was spent, Harry fell back against the brick wall, his legs wobbly. He chest rose and fell hard as he regained his breath. His cock was still half hard and dangling outside his jeans, and he tucked it back in and buttoned up. He shut his eyes and heard Malfoy’s grunt as he came a second later.

Harry felt the chill of the air again now that he was coming down from the high of orgasm. He was also deliriously happy, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

Malfoy got up, and Harry almost laughed—but he was glad he didn’t. Malfoy looked wrecked. His eyelashes were still moist and his cheeks were bright pink. His hair was mussed in all directions, thanks to Harry. He tucked his cock back in, too, and zipped up his jeans.

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face and straightening it back out.

“I need another drink,” he said.

Harry let himself laugh this time. He reached out for Malfoy’s waist, his fingers just brushing it before Malfoy moved away.

“I’ll buy you one,” Harry said, following him back inside. They walked through the hallway where the bathrooms were.

“It’s alright, Potter,” Malfoy said coolly. “Don’t sweat it.”

Harry frowned. He grabbed Malfoy’s arm and pulled him around, turning him to face him. This time, he was the one to push Malfoy flat against a wall.

“I’d be happy to,” Harry said, crowding him. “Let me buy your drinks tonight.”

Malfoy’s eyes were still a bit red, and Harry liked that it was a result of sucking his cock. Heat started to pool in his stomach again. The happy buzz of orgasm still had ahold of him, and he didn’t want to let Malfoy go. Especially not if he was going to return to shutting Harry out. He wasn’t about to let him do that.

“What just happened was… amazing.”

Despite his efforts to remain aloof, a small smirk pulled on Malfoys lips. “Of course it was. I’m very good.”

“Yeah, you are,” Harry breathed, finding Malfoy’s waist with his hands.

Malfoy blushed and his gaze drifted to Harry’s mouth. His eyes began falling shut as his body pressed closer to Harry’s.

Heart pounding, Harry shut his eyes, too, and leaned in.

Malfoy’s lips were soft against his, and they pressed together with gentle suction. Harry’s body flooded with marvelous, fluttery butterflies.

He parted his lips slightly and Malfoy’s tongue came up to lick at him playfully. Harry grinned as he deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against Malfoy’s. It was hot and wet and addictive, and Harry couldn’t get enough. He decided he loved kissing Malfoy. He wanted to never stop kissing him, to never let go of his body that fit so well against his own.

He tasted himself on Malfoy’s tongue, something that surprised him. It was a distinct, musky taste that reminded his cock of what they’d been doing only moments ago.

The door from the pub slammed open, bringing with it a flood of music and chatter from inside, as two people stumbled into the hallway.

Harry sprung away from Malfoy as if he were on fire, shocked by the sudden intrusion. Malfoy took a few steps away from him, clearing his throat and straightening out his shirt.

It was Lavender and Zabini, hanging all over each other and laughing incessantly. Zabini turned Lavender around and put his face in her neck, and it was then that he looked up to see Harry and Draco standing there.

He raised his head, and sensing the pause, so did Lavender.

“Oh,” Lavender said. “Hello.”

Malfoy stalked past them wordlessly, pushing through the door and entering the pub.

Harry smiled, trying to look casual, like he hadn’t been doing anything at all and it was completely normal for him and Malfoy to slink away in dark places together.

“I’m just… going back inside,” he said, pointing to the door. He shuffled past them, pretending he didn’t see them exchanding amused looks.

When he got back to his table, Ron approached him with open arms.

“Where you been?” he fell into Harry, embracing him. He was stumbling a bit more than when Harry had left him. “Dean bought a round of Flaming Whiskey Shots and even Neville took one. I think I burned my nose hairs off.”

“That’s not gross at all. Sorry, I was… I stepped outside for some air.” It wasn’t technically untrue. He had been outside, in the cool night air. He didn’t have to mention he hadn’t been alone.

He looked around and, with a sinking feeling, saw that Malfoy had put his coat back on and was in the process of pulling on his gloves. He was leaving?

Harry looked at the table full of his friends and hated that he didn’t want to join them. Nothing seemed like it would be as fun at that moment than hanging out more with Malfoy, buying him drinks and sneaking gropes of him. But it was clear Malfoy didn’t feel the same way, seeing as he was prepared to leave rather than entertain any sort of flirtation with Harry.

So why, then, had Malfoy brought him out to the alley? Could it have been a drunken fancy which, after some sobering up, he regretted? That possibility made Harry feel like being sick. It also made his blood boil.

Malfoy couldn’t just do that. He couldn’t just go around throwing himself at people, being all sexy and seducing them into back alleys, and then fuck off and treat it like nothing more than a drunken hookup. What if that wasn’t what Harry wanted from him?

But then, what _did_ he want from Malfoy? Before tonight, he was under the impression that all he wanted to do was fuck him. In which case, a drunken blow job shouldn’t be a problem.

Harry went over to the table and grabbed Ron’s drink—he had abandoned it, anyway, and was openly making out with Hermione. He drained the glass. That should settle him. He decided not to waste any more time tonight agonizing over his tortured feelings about Malfoy. He would just enjoy hanging out with his friends.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry woke up on Sunday morning with a dry throat and a pounding in his skull. He groaned and reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, splashing some over his t-shirt as he gulped it down. A glance at the clock told him he had overslept. He looked over at Ron’s bed, where red hair was sticking up from under the covers.

“Ron.”

He was answered with some strained mumbling.

“Ron, get up, we’re supposed to meet everyone on the Quidditch pitch at twelve.”

“Whattimeisit?” Ron said in one continuous whoosh of air.

“11:53.”

Ron stuck his hand out of his covers and waved it around. “We have time.”

Harry chucked his pillow at him, eliciting an, “ _Ooph_.”

“Let’s go!”

After drinking some hangover potion they’d gotten over the summer from George, they dressed as quickly as possible, grabbed their brooms, and high-tailed it down to the pitch. They even skipped breakfast, which Harry didn’t mind because he hated flying with food in his stomach; it made him feel heavy and awkward on the broom.

Last night, they had made plans to meet a few others for a casual game of Quidditch. In hindsight, this was one of those ideas that sounded great under the haze of drunkenness but which made no sense the day after. Harry loved Quidditch, obviously, but today he just wanted to sit on his arse in the common room and feel miserably hungover. Hangover potions could only do so much, and they did wear off after a while.

They ran up to the pitch, panting—in Harry’s case, converse untied and everything—to find the group already assembled. They had the trunk with the balls out already and—oh fuck, Malfoy was there, too. Hadn’t he left before they’d made these plans? Harry sighed in frustration, not excited to spend the next couple of hours with him after the way they’d left things.

“Here come the sleeping beauties,” Seamus said. “It’s about time.”

“Fuck off,” Ron said, catching his breath. “Did you guys decide teams yet?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Dean, Zabini, and Malfoy versus you, Harry, Smith, and Boot. Everyone get in formation!” 

They huddled together into two teams.

“Alright,” Harry said. “What positions do you all want?”

“You’re obviously Seeker,” Smith said. “I want our team to win. I’m Beater, Ron’s Keeper, and Boot’s Chaser.”

“Works for me,” Harry said. “Everyone else?” Ron and Boot nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s win this thing.”

Harry stepped forward, swinging a leg over his broom, and waited for the other team to finish choosing positions. His teammates similarly got into position behind him. After a minute, the other team dispersed and Malfoy came forward to meet Harry in the middle.

Harry scowled. “Of course.”

With a smirk, Malfoy mounted his broom. “Like old times, hey?”

“I believe I beat you all those times.”

Malfoy held up two fingers as Seamus walked over with the Snitch. He counted down, and on three, he let it go.

Harry wasted no time racing in the direction of the Snitch as it flew into oblivion. Malfoy’s broom whooshed in the air right behind him, tight on his tail. But the Snitch had performed its first vanishing act of the match, and Harry slowed down.

He flew in wide, slow circles above the pitch, keeping his eyes peeled for any glimmer of gold. Malfoy was doing the same, but in the opposite direction. They were like two lions circling their kill, waiting for the right moment to pounce. In the middle, their teammates flew back and forth with the Quaffle.

Movement on Malfoy’s side of the pitch caught Harry’s attention, but it had nothing to do with the Snitch. The black mass moving toward Malfoy was a Bludger, heading at high speed.

“Draco,” Harry hollered. “Watch out!”

Malfoy turned just in time, ducking as the Bludger flew past his head.

A few feet away, Smith was laughing to himself, and Boot flew by to give him a high five.

Harry sped in his direction so fast, he didn’t even know when he’d made the conscious decision to do it. Smith only noticed him when he was a few feet away, and by that time it was too late. His jaw dropped as Harry swung his fist.

He hit Smith square in the jaw. A feat that even he was impressed with, if he said so himself. Smith shouted in pain and clutched his mouth, blood staining his fingers. He glared at Harry venomously, and they both circled down to the ground.

By this time, the others had noticed the commotion and were starting to descend as well.

Harry landed on his feet, threw his broom aside, and marched over to Smith who had just dismounted. He swung again.

This time Smith anticipated it and side-stepped.

“What the fuck!” He lunged at Harry, grabbing him by the shoulders. He was taller than him and just as strong, and he wrestled Harry to the ground. He tried to steady himself but his palm slipped in the dirt, and Smith fell on top of him. They rolled around, getting dusty and grass-stained.

Harry rolled on top of Smith and clutched his throat in one hand while attempting to take a swing with the other. But Smith kicked his his legs and kneed Harry off, and Harry’s punch landed in the dirt.

“Stop it!” Dean shouted, running over.

“Potter!” said Malfoy’s voice. “Stop being a lunatic!”

Harry tackled Smith, using one shoulder to pin him to the ground while punching him in the stomach. Smith grunted as the air left his lungs.

A hand was on Harry’s back, forcefully pulling him off. Harry fell onto his arse, unable to get up as two sets of hands now held him down by both shoulders. Smith kicked away, and Dean immediately took hold of him.

When Harry caught his breath, he realized it was Ron and Zabini holding him down.

Terry Boot stepped in front of him, pointing a finger in Harry’s face. “He should be reported to McGonagall.”

“Oh, fuck off, Terry,” Ron said. “It’s just a fight. Don’t act like you’ve never seen anyone fighting before.”

“He tried to kill me,” Smith gasped.

Harry barked a laugh. “Are you serious? If I wanted to kill you, I would have. No, I wanted to pummel your face in.”

“You nearly knocked me off my broom!” Smith shouted.

“That happens in Quidditch all the time!” Ron said at the same time that Harry shouted, “You were trying to knock Malfoy off his broom!”

“I’m not going to get nearly killed just because you want to defend your fucking boyfriend!”

Harry’s heart pounded so hard, he heard it in his ears.

“Why don’t you leave Draco alone?” Zabini said. “This never would have happened if you weren’t trying to Bludger him. You’re always fucking with him; well, maybe it’s about time someone did something about it.”

Harry wrestled with Ron and Zabini to let him go. “I’m just going back to the castle!” They acquiesced and released him, and Harry got to his feet. He stomped away down the dirt path, letting them continue arguing and shouting at each other. He didn’t care what was being said, he just wanted to get out of there.

When he got back to the common room, Hermione tried stopping him to ask what happened, but he brushed her off, telling her it was nothing. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone or to explain anything. When he got to his room, he grabbed fresh clothes and a towel and headed straight to the bathroom, where he jumped into the shower.

The hot water helped his muscles relax, and he sat underneath the spray, letting it pour over him in steaming rivulets.

He was such a fucking idiot.

Malfoy had got one thing right, even if he hadn’t come right out and said it. But he had strongly implied it: Harry got off on saving him.

He really couldn’t deny it. Not after what had just happened. He had no business going after Smith like that, as if he were Malfoy’s personal bodyguard. Harry could have just told Smith to knock it off and left it at that.

But, no. Harry just couldn’t help himself, could he? He kept making it his personal mission to save Malfoy in some way.

He cringed when he thought about what Smith had said: that he was defending Malfoy as if he was his boyfriend. God, how mortifying.

He forced himself to shampoo the dirt out of his hair and to soap his body, despite feeling completely drained of any energy to do so. All he wanted to do was go to bed, and after he got out of the shower, that’s exactly what he did.

He didn’t even get dressed before slipping between his sheets. Then he pulled the covers over his head, mimicking Ron from that morning. His plan was to lie here all day and, later on, beg Hermione to bring him food from the Great Hall. This way, he wouldn’t have to see or talk to anyone. He was simply not in the mood.

So when someone knocked on his door, he groaned angrily. “Just come in!” he shouted with his face pressed into his pillow. Ron was probably just trying to be polite by knocking, instead of barging in. But it was his room, too, and he didn’t need to tiptoe around it.

The door clicked shut. The air in the room was strange, very still and quiet. Harry suddenly felt like it wasn’t Ron.

He sat up to see who had come in, and he blanched to find Malfoy standing there.

“Oh,” Harry said, scrambling to sit up straighter. “Hey.”

Malfoy walked to his bed. He was still wearing the joggers, unzipped hoodie, and v-neck t-shirt he’d worn earlier during the match. He sat down at the edge of it.

Harry stared at him, frowning. He had no idea what Malfoy was here for, but thankfully, Malfoy didn’t appear angry at all. He had been angry on the pitch, but right now he was calm and collected. It made Harry feel even more flustered by comparison.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me. I—”

“Potter, stop.” Malfoy rested a hand on Harry’s leg. It was over the covers, but Harry’s body reacted anyway. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“You’re not here to yell at me for trying to save you?”

Malfoy gave him a wry smile. “I do enjoy yelling at you, but no. Actually, I wanted to say…” He blushed and chuckled. “In the least perverted way possible… Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” At that moment, hearing that word made Harry feel horrible, somehow.

“I’m serious, Potter. I’m not saying it for any other reason than I mean it.” Malfoy heaved a sigh. “You were just standing up to someone who was doing something you thought was wrong, which is completely in your nature and also very Gryffindor of you. I shouldn’t expect you to act any other way.”

“He _was_ wrong,” Harry said, sitting forward and holding Malfoy’s gaze. Something that looked like doubt and a touch of sadness crossed Malfoy’s eyes, and it made Harry want to grab him and shake him. “You don’t deserve to be punished, Draco.”

Malfoy pressed his lips into a thin line, his body tensing away from Harry, and he removed his hand. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You came here, bringing it up. I know you’re feeling guilty, and you want to do something good to make up for it. Like helping Matilda Weatherstaff; that’s brilliant. But seeing you constantly letting Smith treat you like shit and refusing to stand up for yourself… It makes me sick. That’s not the bloke I used to know.” Harry was surprised, himself, at his conviction. He hadn’t even fully acknowledged he felt this way until this very moment. “I miss him.”

A storm of emotion brewed behind Malfoy’s eyes. “You never liked me. Don’t pretend like you have some kind of fond memories of me from Hogwarts that you—”

“I don’t understand it, either, okay? All I know is I think about you constantly.”

The air in the room was becoming scarce. Malfoy clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He looked away from Harry, his jaw working as he stared down at the floor instead.

“I’m sorry.” Harry leaned back against the headboard, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Just forget it. I don’t care, let’s just drop it.” He was so tired. As soon as Malfoy left, he was going to take a long nap.

Thankfully, Malfoy did let it drop. His eyes roamed off Harry’s face, and then his brows furrowed.

“Are you not wearing a shirt?”

Harry looked down at himself, having actually forgotten he was naked. “Oh… No, I’m not.”

Malfoy scanned his chest for long moments. Harry suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself, like how to hold his arms or how straight to sit up. His skin tingled under Malfoy’s gaze.

Malfoy looked back up at him, a mischievous smirk returning to his lips. Unfortunately, Harry’s cock took notice of how good Malfoy looked in joggers, and how his t-shirt bunched up attractively over his flat stomach.

“I might not be wearing trousers, either,” Harry said.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. He leaned across Harry’s body, picking up the edge of the covers. Leisurely, he began to pull them down.

Harry swallowed as, first, his abdomen was revealed, then his navel, and then his hips. And finally, the covers slid over his cock, which was rapidly filling under Malfoy’s gaze.

A hunger passed over Malfoy’s face as he stared. Harry spread his thighs to let his balls falls onto the mattress, displaying himself fully.

He reached down and began stroking himself, watching Malfoy’s face.

Malfoy shifted in his seat. Harry could see the beginnings of a tent forming underneath the soft fabric of his joggers.

“What are you going to do with this?” Harry asked.

Malfoy chuckled. “You’re a bit of a cad, Potter.” 

Harry grinned. “You like it.”

Malfoy crawled onto the bed, ensconced between Harry’s legs. He didn’t stop there, moving up Harry’s body until they were face to face. The warm, pleasant weight of him sent more blood rushing south to Harry’s cock, especially when Malfoy brushed against it.

“Just so we’re clear,” Malfoy said, inches from Harry’s face, “I still think you’re an arrogant arse.”

“Good.” Harry ran his hands up Malfoy’s t-shirt. “And I still think you’re an insufferable snob.” He touched his lips to Malfoy’s, not quite kissing him. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

Malfoy pressed their lips fully together, kissing Harry soundly. Harry, meanwhile, pushed his hoodie off his shoulders and then pulled his t-shirt up over his head, breaking the kiss only to rip it off of him.

It felt just as good kissing Malfoy today as it had last night. He swept his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth as he pushed his joggers down over the curve of his arse. Harry groaned when his hands encountered the rounded cheeks, and he gripped them fully in both hands.

Malfoy kicked his trousers and pants the rest of the way off, and soon he was lying naked on top of Harry, who was more than pleased about that. He kneaded Malfoy’s arse as Malfoy ground their cocks together.

Harry groaned. “Malfoy, go into that top drawer…”

Malfoy stopped moving his hips and reached across to the bedside table, wrenching the drawer open. He ruffled through it with one hand until he pulled out the tube of lubricant. He had to sit up, nestling on top of Harry’s thighs, to twist the cap off and squeeze it into his hand.

Malfoy looked down at their cocks and then grinned crookedly at Harry. In this position, their cocks were right next to each other, Harry’s resting on his abdomen and Malfoy’s jutting out from his body. Malfoy had a gorgeous pink cock, the perfect size for Harry to imagine putting in his mouth and sucking on. He wanted to give Malfoy the best blow job of his life. He wanted to squeeze Malfoy’s cock in his fist and stroke it until the shiny head turned red.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was staring at Harry’s, his eyes getting that hazy, lustful look. After he’d rubbed the lubricant between his fingers, warming it up, he spread it over Harry’s shaft. Harry hissed at the contact and at how good the slickness felt.

After a few strokes to get it coated, Malfoy turned his attention to his own, doing the same thing. When they were both shiny with lubricant, Malfoy climbed back up Harry’s body and settled into his original position. For his part, Harry was glad to get his hands back on Malfoy’s arse.

They snogged and rolled their hips together, grinding their cocks against one another. Harry wondered if anything could feel better than this, and he decided that wasn’t possible. He loved the feeling of their cocks sliding together, creating heat and friction that kept building up until he wanted to explode. But more than that, he loved getting lost in the crazy feelings in his chest. Those heart-racing, chest-expanding feelings that bloomed just from holding Malfoy in his arms.

He was getting close. He could feel it in his balls drawing up and the way he stopped being able to form coherent thought. Breaking off the kiss, Harry leaned his head back and shut his eyes, focusing on the friction between his legs.

Malfoy buried his face in Harry’s neck, moving his hips faster and more urgently.

Harry couldn’t hold on anymore, and he came between both their bodies, his come splattering his stomach and Malfoy’s. His mouth fell open and he gasped near Malfoy’s ear. The best thing was feeling Malfoy’s body tremble as his own orgasm overcame him, and hearing the moans he made when he spent himself.

It was brilliant. Harry couldn’t move a muscle, and he felt like he might melt into his mattress. He just breathed and breathed until his heart slowed down to normal levels again.

Malfoy rolled off him. They shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable, and ended up lying side by side on their backs.

Harry reached down and pulled the cover back up both their bodies. Now that he’d come, he was getting cold again. He was sticky–and would most likely need another shower and a change of sheets—but he was also warm and sated and too satisfied to care.

“When do you think Weasley will come back?”

“I have no idea.”

“I should probably go.”

Harry turned his head toward him. “If you want to.”

“I mean, I can’t stay here. I still hate you, remember?”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Malfoy turned to him as well. “You know all that stuff I was saying yesterday… Before sucking your cock?”

Harry tensed, not sure where this was going. “Yeah?

A coy smile pulled at Malfoy’s lips, and he looked torn with embarrassment. “I kind of liked it.”

Relief flooded him. He thought for a second this was going to turn into a confrontation. But there was nothing to disagree about there.

“It was the hottest thing I’ve ever done,” Harry said.

“Well, then,” Malfoy said, looking pleased, “perhaps we should do it again.”

“You can suck me off any time.” In fact, there was nothing Harry would like more than for Malfoy to randomly suck him off during the day. “Any time at all that you feel the need,” he added with a smirk.

Malfoy turned onto his side facing Harry and ran a hand over Harry’s chest, drawing it down toward his navel and dipping his fingers into the wetness there. “You know what part I’m talking about.” He pressed a kiss onto Harry’s cheek, then onto his jaw, trailing them down until his face was pressed into Harry’s neck.

A renewed heat roared through Harry, because he very much knew what Malfoy was referring to. He had tried not to think about all those things Malfoy had said about him: that somewhere deep down, he got off on saving Malfoy. He hated the thought that it got his dick hard when Malfoy acted all adoring and worshipful of him—and he would never, not in a million years, demand that Malfoy to do anything sexual out of gratitude. But if Malfoy _wanted_ to do it...

Malfoy continued to suck on his neck, sending shivers down Harry’s spine. He was going to leave a mark if he kept doing that.

That possibility made Harry freeze. Even though it felt amazing, it would be foolish to risk a mark. Everyone would see it and wonder where he got it from; and worse, Ron and Hermione were sure to ask.

And speaking of Ron, he was bound to come back to the room at any time! Harry was suddenly nervous he was going to burst through the door any moment, catching them like this. It would definitely be hard to explain why he and Malfoy were lying naked in his bed together.

Malfoy sensed the change in him and stopped. “Something wrong, Potter?”

“No, it’s just… Like you said, Ron might come back.”

Malfoy’s head spun toward the door, and even though it was still firmly shut, he made haste to get out of the bed.

Harry sat up and watched him gather his clothes from various spots on the floor and wrestle them back on. God, he hated to see that arse being covered up.

When he got to the door, Malfoy turned to look at him before shutting it behind him. Moments later, Harry heard Malfoy’s door, just feet away, open and shut as well.

 

><

 

 

By the time he finished another quick shower, Harry’s stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten all day and he planned to wolf down as much food as possible in the Great Hall. Miraculously, he felt more energized than he had all day, smiling to himself all the way to the common room.

Just when he got there, Ron and everyone from the Quidditch pitch was entering through the sliding brick wall.

“Hey,” Harry said. “I’m going down to eat, want to come?”

“We were just there,” Ron said. “We decided to get some food after dropping Smith off at the hospital wing. You chipped one of his teeth, by the way.”

So that was why his hand was hurting him so much. “Oh shit, I hope he’s okay.” He didn’t really care, to be honest, but it seemed like he should at least pretend to.

“He’s fine,” Ron said, not appearing much concerned, either. “Boot stayed with him, and Pomfrey’s sorted him out.”

Zabini came up to Harry. “Maybe now he’ll learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“But I should have kept my head,” Harry said. “Sorry I ruined the match.”

Zabini shrugged. “I was too tired, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I’m glad we went to eat instead.”

Harry’s stomach reminded him that he still needed to do that.

“Where’s Draco?” Zabini asked him.

Harry scoffed. “I.. I don’t know! Why would I know where he is?”

At that moment, Hermione came out from the girl’s side of the dormitory. Upon spotting her, Ron waved her over. She smiled brightly at them and gave Ron a kiss on the lips. Seamus and Dean went upstairs together, and Zabini left to join Goyle in the corner playing wizarding chess with Bulstrode.

“I’m going to go down to the Great Hall,” Harry said, turning to leave.

“Oh, I’ll come!” Hermione let Ron go upstairs to shower and trotted alongside Harry out of the common room. “I was going to eat before heading to the library.”

Harry knew better than to ask her why she was doing work on a Sunday afternoon. He let her chatter the whole way about the books she needed to find, what potions she was brewing for Madam Pomfrey, and how much she and Padma Patil had in common.

When they got to the eighth year table, they found Ernie and Sue Li having a conversation with Nearly Headless Nick. They sat down near them, and Harry immediately scooped up a large dollop of mashed potatoes onto his plate. The meatloaf and flaky biscuits also smelled delicious.

“So how’s work in the East Wing going?” Hermione asked.

“Pretty good. We’ve got rid of most of the Sparklers, I think. Surprisingly, we haven’t come across anything worse. I had expected the place to be full of rogue curses. It’s just really destroyed and falling apart.”

“Have you explored the ghost corridor anymore?”

“No, we’ve stayed away from there, for the most part.” He thought about Matilda Weatherstaff’s ghost and wondered if she was still huddling around her makeshift hut. “I kind of want to go back and check it out.”

As Nick was floating away from the table, Harry called to him and stopped him.

“Hello, Harry,” he said, nodding in greeting. “Hermione. How are you?”

“We’re good, just working on the castle,” Harry said. “I hear there are some new ghosts this year, sadly. Have you met any of them?”

“Oh, yes. I, for one, enjoy having company around. However,” he leaned in conspiratorily and lowered his voice, “there are _some_ ghosts around here who don’t like new ghosts. I am not in a position to say whom, but some people remain snobs even after death. You’d think you’d stop caring about blood status when you’ve got no blood left in you.”

“Have you spoken to Matilda Weatherstaff? She was a first year student last year, and I met her ghost last week.”

“Oh, yes, Matilda. I haven’t spoken to her because she doesn’t speak to anyone.” Nick lowered his head. “Poor girl. She is probably still in shock.”

“You mean, about being dead?” Hermione said.

“Yes. Sometimes, it takes a person a while to realize they are a ghost. I’ve seen it time and again: people rise from their bodies and remain in a state of discombobulation, unsure of who they are or where they are. Sometimes they don’t even recognize their own dead bodies, from the extent of their shock. This usually happens when someone’s died young, as Matilda has, and never expected to die so soon.”

Hermione wore a doleful expression. “It must be incredibly jarring to be alive one minute, and then be dead the next, never having seen it coming.”

“Has anyone… told her?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too insensitive.

“Of course, we have. The Ghost Welcome Committee was formed specifically to help all new ghosts acclimate to life as an apparition. But it never does any good when someone simply doesn’t understand they’re dead. It’s just going to take time.”

“What about her body?” Harry asked. “Surely someone must have spotted it somewhere.” He thought of all the ghosts at Hogwarts, with free reign over the castle and the ability to walk through walls, and wondered how it was possible that nobody had any clue as to where it could be.

Nick shook his head. “She won’t tell anyone, and as far as I know, no one has seen it.”

“Why won’t she speak to anyone?” He knew it must be from the shock, but it was so gruesome to imagine her physical body rotting away somewhere in the castle. “Surely someone must have some idea of where it could be.” Then he thought of something. “The first years were escaping through a secret passage that led out of the castle. I saw McGonagall guiding them. Would Matilda have died in the tunnel somehow?”

“Someone would have checked there, Harry,” said Hermione, and she had a point. “Either she got separated from the group, or she didn’t come down in the first place.”

“So where could she have been?”

“I obviously don’t know enough about her to say, but we could try and find someone who might. Perhaps we should interview some of her friends to find out what she was like, where she liked to go.”

“Good idea,” Harry said. He turned back to Nick. “Matilda’s ghost wore a Hufflepuff uniform. Could you ask the Fat Friar if he knows who she was friends with?”

“I am at your service,” Nick said, inclining his head and then gliding away.

Harry wondered how much work Malfoy had done, too, and what he had found out so far.

 

><

 

 

That night, a paper bird tapped its beak softly against Harry’s window. He scrambled to get up and let it in. Smiling in anticipation, he unfolded it and read:

>  
> 
> _Potter—_
> 
> _I heard Smith had to get dental work done. I have to admit, that made me laugh._
> 
> _D  
>  _

 

Smiling to himself, Harry added his note underneath.

>   
>  _  
> Malfoy,_
> 
> _You have a terrible sense of humour. Go to sleep, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.  
>  _

  
  
The bird returned quickly.

>  
> 
> _I can’t… I’m too busy thinking about what we did earlier.  
>  _

 

Harry bit his lip, quill poised over the parchment. His mind was inevitably flooded with images of earlier, too. He missed the way Malfoy touched him, and the feel of his warm, bare skin pressed against Harry’s. He also remembered the way Malfoy’s arse felt in his hands. The fact that Malfoy couldn’t sleep thinking about it only added to the heat building up inside him.

>   
>  _  
> What I can’t stop thinking about is your arse.  
>  _

  
  
He couldn’t believe he had just sent that. It was so bold, he was a little embarrassed. His stomach was in knots when Malfoy’s bird returned.

>  
> 
> _What do you want to do with it?  
>  _

  
  
God, what didn’t he want to do? For one, he wanted to stare at it, because it was so pleasingly round and pert. He also would like to have it in his hands again, squeezing and massaging the cheeks. Then a thought occurred to him that made him blush even though no one could see him.

He had no experience with this, himself—his sexual experience being limited to the unsuccessful fumblings he and Ginny shared that summer before breaking up—but he had heard about it, and seen it in pictures in certain types of magazines. But would Malfoy know what this was? Surely, he would. God, was he really going to write this to him?

>  
> 
> _I want to put my mouth on it.  
>  _

 

His heart pounded the entire time he waited for Malfoy’s reply, which seemed to take a full year even though it was probably only a minute.

>  
> 
> _Tell me more, you idiot. I’m stroking my cock thinking of you…  
>  _

  
  
Fine. He wanted more, did he? (And he was stroking himself thinking of Harry? Now there was an image to elicit a full hard-on.)

>   
>  _  
> I want to spread your arse and have a look at you. Then I want to lick and suck on your arsehole.  
>  _

  
  
Harry’s fingers could barely fold the parchment into the shape of a plane. His cock was aching, and the moment he sent off his note, he pulled it out of his pajama bottoms and squeezed the base.

Upon replying, Malfoy’s handwriting was a lot messier than usual.

>  
> 
> _Fuck, Potter._
> 
> _I want that.  
>  _

 

Harry’s cock was leaking precome as he wanked himself. He hastily scrawled:

>   
>  _  
> Meet me outside.  
>  _

 

He tucked his hard cock into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, not that it helped conceal his erection much. Then he hopped out of bed and, as quietly as he could so as not to wake Ron up, crept outside to the hallway.

He waited in the hall between their rooms, staring at Malfoy’s door and wondering if he would come.

Then his door opened quietly, and Malfoy emerged. He was rumpled looking, hair falling loosely around his face. Harry decided he loved the look of Malfoy just getting out of bed.

The moment they locked eyes, they marched toward each other and grabbed each other immediately, their mouths meeting in a fervent kiss. Harry found himself with his back against the wall, and he rolled them over so that he had Malfoy pinned instead.

He snogged Malfoy mercilessly, until they were both out of breath and panting for air.

“You’re disgusting, Potter,” Malfoy said into his ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “Do you really want to do all those filthy things to me?”

“Fuck, yes.” Harry clutched Malfoy’s hips in both hands. “I want to fuck you right now.”

Malfoy’s lips parted and he let out a breathy moan. “Shit…” He reached underneath the waistband of Harry’s pajama bottoms and took hold of Harry’s cock. Harry clenched his teeth against a groan. “This massive cock…” he said as he stroked. “You want to wreck me, don’t you?”

Harry had never thought of it like that, but now he knew that was exactly what he wanted. He’d never wanted to pound into someone so badly in his life. To just shove his cock in him and fuck him hard, without rhythm or finesse—just hard, raw, claiming.

He also pulled out Malfoy’s cock, and they stroked each other fast and gracelessly. Harry was already buzzing with so much lust that it didn’t take long for him to feel the tension start mounting in his belly. He grunted through clenched teeth as it built to the breaking point, and he shut his eyes against his climax. In seconds, he was coming into Malfoy’s hand, and it didn’t take very long for Malfoy to do the same.

Harry fell against Malfoy after he finished, leaning against his body for support. His hands found Malfoy’s waist and he enveloped him in his embrace. Malfoy’s arms had swung up around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“You’re the worst,” Malfoy murmured.

“You’re unbearable,” he breathed.

In a strange way, he meant it, because Malfoy just did too many things to him. He made him absolutely mad. Harry didn’t know how it was possible to think someone was such a terrible, selfish prat and to still want to hold him tightly in his arms and not let go until morning.

He heard a squeaking door from down the hall, and his heart sped up at the idea of someone walking by, possibly on their way to the loo, and catching him and Malfoy like this. Right in the open, dicks out and everything.

Malfoy put a finger to his lips to indicate not to say anything, and they went their separate ways, rushing back to their own rooms.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next week, they made a lot of headway on the East Wing. Now that they had rid the place of most of the Sparklers, and because they hadn’t encountered anything more sinister, Bill decided it was okay for them to split up and work with their partners. In the beginning of the week, they went to class and learned new ways to apply magic to the rehabilitation effort, and in the latter part of the week, they worked on rebuilding Hogwarts one stone at a time.

Being allowed to split up into partners made it exceedingly easy for Harry to pull Malfoy into dark corners and snog him senseless in between jobs. He felt giddy working next to Malfoy, even though most of the time he just drove Harry spare. But getting to grope his arse when no one was looking made it worth it.

“Don’t touch the stones with your hands, Potter!” Malfoy said when they started on the Frog Choir practice room.

“Relax,” he said as he hefted a rather large one. “I have to move them aside to get to the blast hole.”

“Can’t you use your wand for that, like a normal person?”

“They’re light enough to lift.”

“Fine,” Malfoy drawled. “Burn your hands off when you touch one that’s fostering a Skin Boiling curse.”

Harry threw aside another stone, sending it banging onto the floor. “We haven’t found anything like that yet. Besides, you could think about helping me. This might go a lot faster.”

“Someone has to keep an eye out for Sparklers.” Malfoy lounged on the window ledge, spreading his legs straight and crossing them at the ankle. He looked completely out of place among the rubble in his designer trainers and tan shawl-collar jumper.

From that spot, the only thing he was keeping an eye on was Harry. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him as he moved, and it made him blush and warm up all over.

“Seriously, Malfoy! Would you get off your arse and actually do something?”

“Make me.”

Harry tried to resist grinning, but it was impossible. “You’re infuriating,” he said through clenched teeth as he walked over to him.

Malfoy smirked and pointed his wand at him. But his smirk fell and he narrowed his eyes when Harry kept walking right into it, ignoring the sharpness of the tip poking his chest.

“Don’t underestimate me, Potter. Maybe I’ve been faking this whole time just so you’d let your guard down.”

“You saying you’ve set me up?”

“That’s right.” Malfoy nodded. “I could blast you right now.”

In the bright, sunlit classroom, Malfoy’s grey eyes seem speckled with silver. Harry didn’t think he would ever get bored looking into them.

He showed his palms in surrender.

“You wouldn’t even fight back, would you?” Malfoy said softly, watching Harry searchingly. His upper lip curled slightly when Harry shook his head. “I’m not fragile, Potter.” His voice dripped with anger and resentment, like it did that first day they sparred in Bill’s classroom.

“I know that. I just know you’d never do it.” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s face in both hands. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Malfoy’s wand slackened and eventually got pressed between their chests as Harry moved in, pressing their lips together. Malfoy gripped the back of his arms, pulling him closer. They parted their lips, their tongues searching each other out.

Malfoy exhaled in a sigh. “You’re an idiot, Potter.” He stole another quick kiss. “You trust too easily.”

“I just trust you.”

Malfoy furrowed his brows, frowning softly. “Idiot,” he breathed as he grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him in, kissing him savagely.

 

><

 

 

The only thing that sucked was that they still got homework from the professors. Ron groused about it nightly, and at one point Hermione got so sick of him that Harry thought it was going to end up in a Sixth Year Cold War, Take Two.

Binns gave them a surprise exam on Medieval architecture, which he told them would consist of three hundred multiple choice questions. That took two weeks to study for, which left Harry with very little time to give Malfoy hand jobs. The one time they tried studying together, it devolved rather quickly. From then on, Malfoy insisted on studying with Zabini and Parkinson instead, because he actually wanted to do well in the thing, for some reason.

Right after that, Bill made them write five whole feet on the identification and obliteration of Dark Magic curse fumes. How to detect a fume left behind by a curse, and which curses usually left what kind of fumes. What to do if the fume was odourless. What to do if you inhaled a fume left from an entrail expelling curse versus a skin boiling curse. Harry wanted to tear his hair out by three feet, and he started making stuff up by four. When he was finished, he thought his hand might be permanently molded into a quill-holding position.

By the time Harry blinked, it was Halloween and he was having pints with Ron and Bill at The Three Broomsticks.

“Even though I’ve seen you nearly every day, I feel like I haven’t seen you,” Ron told Bill before taking a sip of his drink.

“I know what you mean. You’ve all been so busy at work,” Bill said. “And you’re doing smashingly! Harry, aren’t you and Malfoy already nearly done in the Frog Choir room?”

“We’ve made loads of progress,” Harry agreed. Though he didn’t know how, given that all they did was make out, when they weren’t bickering over stupid things.

“How do you like working with Malfoy?” Bill asked, staring at him a bit more knowingly than Harry would like.

“It’s fine.” Harry hid behind his glass, chugging half of it.

“I think Malfoy will make a natural Curse Breaker.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, will?”

“He’s come to me asking about the work I did with Gringotts. Reckons he wants to do that after leaving Hogwarts. We talk about it after class, sometimes. He’s really concerned his past will hold him back, but I told him to think of it as a positive. Someone who’s really well-versed in the Dark Arts would have a heads up when it comes to breaking Dark curses.”

Ron laughed. “He’s well-versed, alright.”

“He’s never told me that,” Harry said, wondering why it bothered him. He felt a bit prickly that Draco would confide in Bill about that. Sure, Bill was the Defense professor and had been a Curse Breaker for almost a decade… but he’d divulged such important details about his aspirations and dreams, when the most profound thing he’d revealed to Harry so far was that his favorite ice cream flavor was vanilla pudding.

“Why would he tell you?” Ron asked. “Do you guys actually talk about things?”

“No…” Harry slouched in his seat, realizing it was absolutely true.

They never talked about anything that really mattered, and he suddenly wished that they would. He didn’t even know how far Malfoy had got in solving the Matilda Weatherstaff case—in fact, Harry had forgotten all about that between the Hogwarts project and classes. Come to think of it, ever since Harry had taken back the Marauder’s Map, Malfoy hadn’t brought up Matilda again. Nor anything else, for that matter.

Harry frowned and took another sip of his drink.

After they’d finished catching up with Bill, Harry and Ron went back to the common room to join the rest of the eighth years for a Halloween Party. They had dimmed the lights and put on music. There was food and drinks, and the room was decorated with all kinds of spooky things like floating bats and devilishly grinning Jack o’ lanterns. Some people had even dressed up, including Neville and Goyle who came in matching Mandrake costumes, complete with hats made out of leafy ferns.

“Hey, Harry!” Neville said. “Un-pot us.”

“Er… okay.” Harry didn’t know what he meant by that, but he took his best guess, making a grabbing motion in their faces. “I’ve taken you out of your pots…”

Horrifyingly, both Neville and Goyle opened their mouths wide and let off deafening screams. Harry even knocked into Ron from surprise, and the whole room stopped and stared at them.

“You two are such knobs!” said Lavender with her hands covering her ears.

Hermione found them, scowling as she snaked her arm through Ron’s. “Honestly…” she muttered disapprovingly as she eyed Neville and Goyle sideways. Then she turned to Harry. “Hey, do you still want to go to Godric’s Hollow?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He had been planning on visiting his parents, since it was Halloween. “Yeah, we should have gone straight from Hogsmeade because they have the Portkey station there. But I wanted to come back and… Well, I’ve been thinking…”

Harry looked around, spotting Malfoy sitting with Parkinson on opposite sofas by the fireplace. He was holding a glass of green punch and laughing at something Pansy had was saying. Harry’s chest clenched watching him, and the way he was so close to Pansy, and to Zabini and Goyle. Those were his friends, but it dawned on Harry that Malfoy didn’t consider him to be one. Which shouldn’t have been a problem, everything considered. Since when were they anything more than enemies—who, only up until very recently, couldn’t stop touching each other?

“Would you two mind if I went... alone?”

Ron and Hermione told him they’d go with him, and he did want them there, he really did. And he loved them for always being there for him.

“Not that I don’t want you to come!” he rushed to clarify. “You guys are awesome for offering to come.”

“Of course we’d come, Harry,” Hermione said. “But we also understand if you want to go… alone.”

“Thanks. You know, sometimes you just need to do these things, alone.”

“Absolutely.” Hermione pulled Ron by the arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll be here when you get back. Take as long as you need!” She steered Ron toward the food and drink table, whispering something in his ear.

Harry went the opposite way, toward the fireplace.

Pansy saw him approach first, saying something rapidly to Draco, who stiffened his shoulders and didn’t turn around.

Harry licked his lip. “Hey, Pansy.”

“Hi, Potter.” She was sitting with her legs crossed, wearing a very short skirt. “Care to sit?” she asked, rubbing a small circle into the seat next to her on the sofa.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m about to leave, actually. I just wanted to talk to Malfoy for a second.”

Pansy shot Draco a deeply wily smirk. Harry felt himself blushing, despite himself. Why should he be nervous about talking to Draco, or care what Pansy thought about it? But considering what he was going to ask him, Harry did feel less sure of himself than usual. There was a strong possibility of Draco saying no.

“Well, what is it?” Draco drawled, like he was trying to sound as bored as possible. He was finally looking at Harry, one eyebrow raised.

God, he was such a prick when he was around his friends.

“I meant we should talk in private.”

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes as he rose from the sofa, putting his drink down on the table. Harry almost regretted asking him. He turned on his heel and led Draco in the direction of the dormitories, and they stood by the door, where it was much quieter.

“I’m still waiting to hear what it is you want with me,” Draco said, his voice still snotty but his lips stretched into a flirty smile. His fingers reached for the belt loops in Harry’s jeans.

Even though Draco’s touch over his hips sent pleasurable shivers through him, Harry took his hands in his own and pulled them away from his body. But he couldn’t resist holding on a few seconds longer than he should before letting go. Draco’s face fell into a serious expression.

“I want to ask you a favour—Well, it’s not really a favour. It’s more like...a request.” Harry cleared his throat.

“Spit it out, Potter.”

“Alright. Will you come with me to Godric’s Hollow?”

“What the bloody hell is in Godric’s Hollow?” he asked with a derisive chuckle.

 _Only where my parents are buried_. How could he tell Malfoy that now, after he’d just mocked the place. It felt ridiculous now.

Harry clenched his jaw. “You know what? Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

If Malfoy was going to be such a dick about it, he didn’t want him to come, anyway. He should have known better. Sometimes he wondered if he was too stupid to recognize that Malfoy was the same git he’d always known, regardless of how good he was at cock sucking. Which he hadn’t done since that first time, as a matter of fact.

Malfoy stepped in front of him and blocked him from leaving. “Oh, come on. Tell me.”

“Never mind.”

“Don’t be such a brat, Potter. I was only joking—it sounds like a lovely place. Just charming, I’m sure. Let’s go to Godric’s Hollow. What are we doing there?”

“Visiting my parents.” Harry pressed his lips together, not sure what reaction he was going to get.

“Oh.” Malfoy’s cheeks pinkened. He huffed. “I obviously didn’t know…”

He figured that was as much an apology as he was going to get from Malfoy. He tried smiling softly. “It’s fine. Really, you couldn’t have known. So do you want to come?”

Malfoy stared at him silently, and after a moment, said, “Yes.”

He waited for Malfoy to get his coat, and then they took the carriages to Hogsmeade because it was too cold to walk. They sat across from each other, knees occasionally knocking together, as the carriage sped toward the village.

“That’s where they used to live,” Harry said. “And I was born there.”

Malfoy remained grimly quiet, his face pale as he listened to Harry describe the place and how he went there for the first time last year with Hermione.

All at once, Harry realized that Malfoy was struggling with this. His chest filled with a soft emotion he couldn’t place.

“Thanks for coming.” He touched his ratty converse to Malfoy’s Burberry trainers. “I didn’t invite you to make you feel guilty, or to rub things in your face, or anything. I just… wanted you to be there.”

Malfoy’s mouth was a thin line. “Thank you,” he said so faintly, Harry almost didn’t hear him.

When they got to Hogsmeade, they walked to the Portkey office to request a key to Godric’s Hollow. Thankfully, they had one direct. They each grabbed either side of the rusty wrench, and they spun away.

When Harry’s feet touched on the ground, he swayed from momentary nausea and took a deep breath of crisp, fresh air. He let go of his side of the wrench, and Malfoy tossed it aside. They had landed in a field outside the main square. The lights from the street were visible, and the soft rumble of voices and footsteps reached their ears.

They walked to the little square and joined the crowd. People were out celebrating Halloween, and even shops were open, passing out candy at their stoops to kids roaming around in costume.

Harry and Draco walked silently shoulder to shoulder down the main street. Harry didn’t know what to say, and Draco seemed not to want to open his mouth for the first time in his life. But it wasn’t unpleasant, walking with him toward St Jerome’s church. In fact, Harry began to feel peaceful among the people and the merriment, and his heart was at ease.

Soon they reached the church, and Harry led them around the side to the little graveyard that abutted it. Their shoes crunched in the dirt path that wound around and among the graves.

He saw his parents’ gravestone from a distance, its white marble facade seemingly glowing in the darkness. They stopped in front of it, staring down. Draco stood with his hands in his pockets, his body tense.

His voice was gruff, as though strained with emotion. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,” he read the words inscribed on the tombstone.

Harry swallowed, his throat getting scratchy. He inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. Those words meant so much to him; he wondered what they meant to Draco.

Draco turned to him, his eyes shining with moisture. Even though his face was hard and unyielding, Harry was swept away by the intensity in that grey stare.

“Don’t you dare cry, Potter. You wuss.”

Since Draco was clearly the one who was having issues with that, Harry couldn’t help but break into a grin.

And out of nowhere, he was laughing, his body shaking with breathy snickers and guffaws. He put the back of his hand over his mouth to stop himself.

“I’m serious,” Draco said. “If you cry, I’ll smack you.”

Unable to stop smiling, Harry pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing their bodies together. The moment Draco sighed into him, Harry’s whole body spread with warm tingles.

“Draco,” he breathed into his ear, purely for the joy of saying his name.

Draco’s body stiffened in his arms, so he ran his hands down his back in a reflexive attempt to soothe him. Reaching around to the front, Hary quickly undid some buttons and reached into Draco’s coat, running his hands down his sides. Draco’s body was warm, and it was even moreso underneath his jumper, where Harry’s fingers found their way.

Draco kissed him. They stood there, like that, for long moments, their lips pressed together. Harry’s chest swelled, and he almost laughed again when he remembered Draco’s warning not to cry. He didn’t feel like crying for very long; as soon as Draco’s hands ran through his hair, Harry felt a different emotion well up inside him. Something more urgent and a little desperate.

He wanted Draco so close to him, there’d be no space left for air. And he would gladly suffocate, like he was doing now under the weight of this feeling.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against Draco’s, unwilling to part from him just yet.

Soon after, Harry said goodbye to his parents and they left the graveyard. They walked slowly back up the dirt path, then continued up the street. Somehow, their hands had found one another. Harry’s pulse raced. He didn’t dare say anything, but neither did Draco.

As they kept walking, something flashed from the corner of Harry’s vision, and his heart skipped a beat. He immediately dropped Malfoy’s hand and turned, but he smacked right into a woman.

No, it wasn’t a woman. It was a hag. A very old, very ugly looking one who looked convincingly real enough that Harry didn’t think this was just someone in a costume. Unless it was so well thought out, it also came equipped with the stench of rotten eggs. He wrinkled his nose, when the hag’s warted hand sprung from her tattered robes and grabbed his arm.

Draco pulled his wand out instantly. “Get your hands off him, hag.” He pointed the wand in her face. “Don’t you have a hovel to go back to?”

Harry, for his part, couldn’t stop staring at her. There was something about her that rooted him to the spot. Her eyes were so foggy white, they barely had an iris.

The hag smiled, revealing her yellow teeth. “All Hallow’s Eve is the night of spirits, boy,” she said in a crackly voice, “and they have a message for you.”

“What is it?”

“They tell me that they approve.”

“Of what?”

The hag cackled. “I don’t know, I just repeat it as it comes. I’m sure you’ll work it out, if you’re smart.” She let go of his arm, still cackling to herself as she hobbled down the street.

Draco shook his head, putting his wand away. “Fucking hags. They love to come out on Halloween; it brings all the insane creatures out of hiding.”

“What the hell was that?” Harry’s arm shook, the one she’d grabbed.

“It was nothing, I’m sure. Hags are mad. And filthy…”

Harry tried to forget it as they walked to the Godric’s Hollow Portkey Office to get another key back to Hogsmeade. Draco was probably right. Halloween was indeed a night beloved by all manner of creature. It was said that because the veil between the spirit world and this one became much thinner this night, it drove magical creatures a bit manic.

 

><

 

 

When they got back to the castle, it was well past midnight. However, they still encountered plenty of people on their way up to the common room. There were couples sneaking out past curfew to snog in a dark alcove. Flitwick and Sprout strolled past, clearly pissed off their heads, and didn’t even notice Harry and Draco as they walked by. Also, the ghosts were everywhere, not to mention Peeves was zooming around all over the place like the maniac he was.

On the second floor, they ran into Nearly Headless Nick speaking with the gloomy nuns that haunted the Arithmancy classroom. Upon hearing their footsteps, the women stopped talking and fled, fading away through the ceiling. They had never been very friendly, those nuns.

“Nick!” Harry said. “Happy Deathday. What is it now—your five hundred and fifth?”

“Sixth.” Nick smiled. “We just finished celebrating. Oh, by the way, Harry, I finished that little request of yours.”

“Oh, right. Matilda Weatherstaff.” Truthfully, it had slipped Harry’s mind completely that he’d asked him to do that. “Did you find out anything from the Fat Friar?”

Draco turned to Harry. “You asked him to help find Matilda?”

“Just to get some information about her. You know, in case it helps us figure out where she could have been the day of the battle.”

Draco lowered his voice, speaking through clenched teeth. Not that there was any point, because Nick could obviously still hear him. “I meant to do this by myself.”

“Yourself?” Harry said. “Then why did you ask me for help with the map before?”

Draco’s jaw fell. “I didn’t ask for your help, Potter! You practically forced me to tell you what I was doing. Do you not remember this?”

Harry knitted his brows together. “What’s the big deal? Don’t you want to find her?”

“Of course, I do! I’ve been trying to find her for months.”

“Well, then, what the hell is your problem?” Harry rounded on him, his fists clenching at his sides. “Whatever Nick found out, it could help you do that.”

“If I wanted to conduct an investigation—which I have, by the way—I can do it myself. I don’t need you solving this for me. You…” Malfoy let out a frustrated shout. “Stop trying to help me do everything! Stop protecting me, and coddling me. I don’t want you to do this for me. This is _my_ thing to do. You can’t take it away from me.”

Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach. When he could finally speak again, his words rushed out of him in a single whoosh of air. “I’m not trying to take anything from you. How could you—”

How dare he? Was he actually serious right now? Harry didn’t know what to say. How could he respond to that, if Malfoy honestly thought Harry was trying to take something away from him? What could he possibly be taking, the glory? There was no glory in finding Matilda’s body, only duty; someone should find it because it needed to be found. It was the right thing to do. What did it matter who was the one who found it, as long as it got back to her family, who deserved to know where it was.

His shock rapidly turned to anger, and he found himself quivering from barely contained emotion. “Are you actually telling me that you think I’m trying to steal all the credit from you?”

Draco looked up at the ceiling, and he began to laugh. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” He threw his hands up. “Absolutely.”

“What?”

“Boys…” Nick was staring between the two of them, hovering back a few inches.

“I’m just a selfish, jealous, pathetic human being to you,” Draco said, ignoring Nick’s trepidatious attempts to intercept the conversation.

Nick held his hands up. “There’s no need to fight over this, boys. I didn’t find out much, anyway.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, clearly attempting to compose himself. But there were still blotchy red spots on his cheeks. “Why don’t you tell us, in any case?” he said. “Despite everything, I’d rather know.”

“Well,” Nick began, “I spoke to her house ghost, the Fat Friar, although he doesn’t like to be called that. Students don’t always come up with the kindest nicknames, you know. ‘Nearly Headless’, for one, is quite insensitive—”

“Nick!” Harry interrupted. He was in no mood, seeing as his nerves were hanging by a thread.

“Right. The Friar spoke to the girls that Matilda used to share a room with last year. They didn’t have much to say that was enlightening, describing her as a fairly typical eleven-year-old girl. Quite ordinary, nothing that might provide a clue. The only peculiar thing they mentioned was that she enjoyed taking long strolls around the castle, particularly on the seventh floor. She told them it helped her cope with the stressors of school, especially since last year was one of the more challenging years.” Harry knew he was referring to the way the school was run under Carrows’ rule.

Draco sighed. “Well, that’s useless.”

Nick bristled, then lifted his chin and sniffed. “I did what I said I would do, which is ask. I’m sorry that the information is not of more help to you.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Harry said.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late to a food smelling after-party. The Baron has been letting a ham rot for two weeks.” Nick turned and floated through the wall.

Harry stared at the spot where he’d disappeared. He was still reeling from what Draco had said. But he knew, deep down, what he was really pissed off about.

Draco was the first to move, walking ahead of him down the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

Ron and Hermione could tell something was up, but Harry got the feeling they thought his moroseness was due to visiting his parents on the anniversary of their death. Little did they know it was because of the massive fight he’d had with Malfoy. Harry still couldn’t believe the things Malfoy had said to him. He didn’t even mind that Malfoy had gone back to ignoring him again. He didn’t want to talk to someone who was actually that stupid.

At breakfast, Hermione put her tea down to catch the _Daily Prophet_ that was dropped at her seat by the owl delivery.

“One of my favorite parts of the day is reading the paper in the morning.” She sighed happily.

Harry, too, liked keeping up with the news. He usually read the paper daily, but he’d been too distracted lately.

Harry speared his sausage. It being Sunday, he intended to go straight to the weight room after breakfast and lose himself in the strenuous task of lifting.

Hermione gasped.

“What is it?” Harry said.

She stared up at him, eyes wide as the saucer under her teacup. Her fingers clutched the edges of the paper. “Harry…”

Ron set his fork down. “What’s wrong? What’s it say?”

“Oh, Harry.” She winced. “What were you thinking?”

Now he had to know what was going on.

“Show me the paper.”

What could it possibly be? Had he done something recently to stir up the press? He couldn’t think of anything. All he’d done was go to Godric’s Hollow last night, and he hadn’t seen any photographers….

Oh no.

Right before the hag had grabbed him, he could have sworn he’d seen a flash. And that had been when—

Hermione flipped the paper over and showed him the front page. Two-thirds of it was covered in a ginormous picture of him walking down the main street of Godric’s Hollow. Holding Malfoy’s hand.

Harry slouched in his seat as he took the paper in weak hands. The headline was horrendous.

_SAVIOUR OF THE WIZARDING WORLD BETRAYS US ALL: POTTER ROMANCES CONVICTED DEATH EATER, DRACO MALFOY_

Oh, god, he looked positively lovestruck in the photo. He hadn’t realized he’d been wearing that bashful smile. His face had been pink all over from the cold air, but it looked like it might be from adoration of the bloke holding his hand. Malfoy was also looking straight ahead in the photo, and appeared just as smitten. They looked good together, unfortunately. A bit oddly matched, but somehow still right.

With his stomach churning, Harry read the article printed below the photograph.

>   
>  _  
> Harry Potter was spotted strolling through Godric’s Hollow village late on Halloween night with none other than convicted Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. The two were holding hands, and an anonymous witness says she spotted the pair kissing on the St Jerome’s Church grounds._
> 
> _Draco Malfoy is the only son and heir of Lucius Malfoy, right hand man to Lord Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy’s early release from Azkaban spawned controversy last month, and there were questions concerning the basis for his release. Considering Potter and Malfoy’s coupling, could it be possible that Potter had a hand in it? Draco Malfoy must realize it pays to be Harry Potter’s boyfriend._
> 
> _The Malfoys are among the oldest Pureblood families in England. The line dates back to Armand Malfoy, friend to William the Conqueror...  
>  _

  
  
The article continued on page five, but Harry thought he might be sick if he kept reading. He set the paper down, and Ron immediately grabbed it to read it himself.

The growing silence in the Great Hall was punctuated by whispers, and Harry looked around to see that, across all the other houses and the professors’ table, people were staring at him. Many of them were holding the paper, passing it around when asked what was going on.

Then there was a bang from the other side of Harry’s table, and Harry turned to it in shock.

In the air in front of Draco spun a fiery red envelope the unfolded and re-folded itself into a paper mouth. Draco tried to swat it out of the air, but it kept dodging him. This was no ordinary letter—Harry recognized a Howler when he saw one.

The thing opened its mouth and let off a stream of vitriol worse than Harry had ever heard. The angry voice shouted at Draco about how he didn’t deserve to be dating Harry Potter, and how dare he worm his way into the Chosen One’s heart, and he was probably using a love potion. It then proceeded to call him all manner of unrepeatable names.

But before it had even finished, a dozen owls sped through the open window into the Great Hall, each carrying about six red letters on each ankle. When they let them down it looked like a tornado of Howlers circling around Draco’s head. One by one they began to pop open, releasing their rage upon him. They all went off at once, shouting over one another and creating a deafening roar.

Wearing a huge scowl, Draco sprang from his seat and marched out of the hall. However, his attempt to escape was futile because the Howlers trailed after him.

Harry rose from his seat as well, ignoring various people from the table calling his name. He followed Draco out of the hall. It was easy to track him from the noise alone.

Draco ran into the entrance hall and out through the front doors, barreling down the steps and onto the grounds. He didn’t stop until he got far enough away from the castle. Then he turned around to face the Howlers and, pointing his wand, unleashed a cloud of smoke upon the lot of them. The black smoke enveloped the mass of Howlers, and they let off shrieks as they were melted away.

When the commotion finally stopped, everything was eerily quiet.

Draco spotted Harry watching him from the castle steps.

He pointed a finger at him. “Stay away from me.” With that, he turned and marched down the dirt path that led to the Quidditch pitch.

Harry shouted at him. “Draco! Draco, stop.” He jogged along the path after him.

They went all the way down to the pitch, and Draco only stopped and turned around when he reached the middle of it. He stood in the yellow, dead grass with his fists clenched at his sides and his teeth bared.

“I can’t believe that happened.”

“I know.” Harry stepped slowly toward him. “It’s crazy. We shouldn’t have… been so careless.”

“We shouldn’t have done it at all!”

Harry swallowed down the sting from those words. Draco was freaked out from being chased by a hoard of Howlers; anyone would be testy after that. Besides, the article was mortifying.

“What they wrote about you,” Harry said. “I know it’s bullshit. I know you’re not just with me because I’m _Harry Potter_.”

Draco stared at him disbelievingly. “Are you saying… You really consider me your…”

“No!” Harry realized how that sounded. He stopped a foot away from Draco. “I only meant… with me in terms of…”

Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn’t even lie when it came down to saying the words. But it was such a huge thing to comprehend, and it scared the shit out of him. Especially considering who Draco was, and who he was. The truth was, the article’s tone hit closer to home than he wanted to admit.

“I never thought I’d ever want a boyfriend.”

Draco blinked. “But you want me?” he said, his voice low.

Harry didn’t know what to say. He knew he wanted Draco down to his core; to touch him and kiss him and be around him constantly. That was probably what it meant to be a boyfriend. It also meant Harry had to admit, definitively, that not only did he want to be with a bloke, but he wanted to be with Draco Malfoy, convicted Death Eater. And everything that came along with that.

Before he could reply, another owl hooted from above, and they both looked up to see it descending in slow circles over Draco’s head.

Draco sighed in frustration. “If that’s another Howler…”

He took the letter from the owl, but it wasn’t red like the others. It was as normal a letter as any, other than the overbearing wax seal. Draco’s face paled when he looked at it.

With trembling fingers, he ripped through the seal and opened it, pulling the letter out. As he read, his expression fell more and more.

“At least it’s not a Howler,” Harry suggested.

“No.” Draco shook his head. “It’s much worse.” He folded the letter back up and pocketed it. “I have to go.”

“Where?”

He walked by Harry. “I have to write a reply.”

Harry stopped him with a hand on his chest. The look Draco gave him nearly knocked him over, it was so potent with misery and regret.

“Not now, Potter.”

He sounded so defeated, Harry had no choice but to let him go.

 

><

 

 

“Hermione,” Harry said, pulling her aside in the common room. “I have to talk to you.”

She gave him a doleful look. “Sure, Harry. It’s about the paper, isn’t it?” They walked to a pair of armchairs in a corner where the warmth of the fire still reached but where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Sort of,” he said as he sat down. “It’s about Malfoy, in any case.”

“I know you two have been… having a thing.”

It didn’t come as a huge surprise. “I’m sure everyone knows,” he sighed. Then he snorted and added, “Well, they do now.”

“So if it’s true, who cares that the paper printed it? If you’re going to be with Malfoy, then you’re going to be seen together all the time. And there will always be people who’ll take pictures.”

“People who have nothing better to do with their time,” he said bitterly, “or want to sell them for a couple of extra Galleons.”

Hermione shrugged. “Like it or not, this is your life.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’ve been dealing with this for years.”

“So you know that whoever you date is going to be in the spotlight. If that’s Malfoy, well.” She smiled playfully. “I rather think he’d like it.”

Harry snorted, knowing she was right, and feeling strangely fond about that. “He might love it if people were fawning over him, but he doesn’t want to be ridiculed. This was not exactly positive attention. He didn’t take it well today.”

“Yes, well, I suppose the Howlers were difficult to deal with. That kind of backlash is probably something else your significant other will have to get used to.”

Harry slouched in his chair. “Malfoy, especially. People don’t want to see me with him. Not that I give a fuck what people think, but… Do you really think it’s a betrayal?” Harry thought that was over the top.

Hermione pressed her lips together. “Me? No. I don’t feel that way at all. But I suspect a lot of other people will. Notably those who lost family in the war, or were tortured by Death Eaters.”

Harry nodded, knowing it was true. “But they don’t know him.”

“You know,” she said slyly, “you haven’t once tried to deny that you’re dating him.”

Harry’s cheeks got hot, and he looked away. “How can I be dating him when we haven’t even gone on a single date?” He huffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“But you do want to.”

A smile pulled on his lips, despite himself.

“And I think it’s sweet you’re worried that people don’t really know him.”

“They don’t! He’s trying to make things right for one of the families—Matilda Weatherstaff’s family. He wouldn’t be so desperate to find her body if he didn’t give a fuck. But he does—he cares. He feels responsible for her.”

“Has he made any progress?”

“No. Actually, we had a falling out last night when we ran into Nick.” Harry heaved a sigh. “He thinks I’m trying to do it all for him, or something. I don’t know, he’s an idiot.”

“He doesn’t want your help?”

“No, he wants to do it all himself, like to prove he can, or something. Which, I guess is fine. He just didn’t have to freak out on _me_ about it. When he wanted the Marauder’s Map, he perfectly happy to accept my help.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “The map! That’s a brilliant idea, why didn’t I think of it?”

Harry shook his head. “It didn’t work. It only showed her ghost as a dot in the East Wing, but we already knew it was there. The problem is, the map doesn’t reveal dead bodies.”

“No sentience.”

“Yeah, that’s what we reckoned.”

“I think I can figure out how to alter it,” Hermione said, getting that glint in her eye when taking on a magical challenge. “If I could just have some time to analyze the mechanism behind the map’s magic, do some research—”

“No,” he cut her off. “Malfoy wanted to do the same thing, and I told him absolutely not.”

“But why not?” Hermione frowned.

“It’s my dad’s map, Hermione! And Sirius’ and Remus’. I don’t have many of their things, you think I’m going to risk ruining one of the only pieces of themselves they left behind?”

“How do you know it’s not reversible?”

“How do you know it is!”

“I don’t.” Hermione fell back into her seat, disappointment written on her face. “But I think this is pretty important. It’s not like you’re altering it to find a lost shoe, you’re trying to find a girl’s body and bring her family some peace. Not to mention her ghost, which might only be sticking around because of it.”

Her meaning dawned on Harry, and he realized she was right. His chest hurt anyway. The Marauder’s Map was sacred to him. He hadn’t been able to handle the idea of letting it go; should it be destroyed during this magic-altering experiment.

He thought about his father, and Sirius, and Remus. He pictured their faces, and then saw them as teenagers in his mind, completing the map. They had created it to engage in mischief. He smiled at the thought, his heart swelling in his chest. They had all been Gryffindors—the brave, the honourable. They had died fighting Voldemort, each one of them.

They would want to find Matilda’s body. To stick it to Voldemort one more time. To do what was right. He could hear Sirius in his head, laughing at him, telling him not to worry about a silly map; that he would always be with Harry, with or without a bit of old parchment.

Harry would just have to hold onto the hope that, like Hermione said, nothing they did to alter the map would ruin it.

 

><

 

 

He went up to his room to get it, and then he used the map to find Draco. His dot was hovering in the library.

When he got there, he found Draco sitting with his back to the door at a table far to the left, removed from the others. He was hunched over, writing something furiously. As Harry approached, he saw multiple crumpled up pages littering the expanse of the table.

Harry pulled out the chair next to him, making Draco jump, and sat down in it.

“Potter, what are you d—”

“I came to give you something.” He pulled the map out of his pocket.

Draco raised his eyebrows when he saw it, and then looked up at Harry, questions poised on his lips.

“Before you say anything,” Harry said, holding up a hand to stop him, “you need to know that I’m not trying to steal this mission from you. Which I think is a very stupid thing to claim, by the way. But I get why you’re pissed off about it. This is important to you.” He slid the map the last few inches over the tabletop. “Take it. Alter it. Do what you have to do with it. I know my dad would have been glad it was used for such a good purpose.”

Draco stared at it for long moments.

“Hermione wants to help,” Harry added.

“She does? You mean, you asked her?”

“I didn’t have to twist her arm. Trust me, this kind of thing is fun for her. It gives her an opportunity to spend hours researching spells and things. She’s obsessed with magical theory.”

“I like it, too. I want to be a curse breaker.”

Harry smiled. “Do you? I think you’d be brilliant at it.”

Draco looked down, somehow shy and self-satisfied at the same time. “I imagine I will be.”

“I would probably want to get into curse breaking, too, if I didn’t want to be an Auror.”

“You’re suited to being an Auror, Potter. What would you do if there were no villain to chase?”

Harry chuckled.

Draco looked up through his lashes. “Trust me, I know how you like saving people.”

A sizzle of heat ran through Harry at the suggestive look in his eyes. Harry lowered his voice. “Maybe I only like it a lot when it’s you.”

“You have to stop trying to save me, you nutter.”

Harry placed his hand on Draco’s thigh. “Why should I?”

Draco stared at him momentarily, seemingly holding his breath, before pressing his lips together. He glanced over the mess of parchment on the table. “I’m writing to Mother.”

“That letter you got, it was—”

“—it was from her. She saw the paper. Obviously.” Draco’s throat moved as he swallowed. “She’s not pleased.”

Harry scowled. “It’s none of her business.”

Draco shot him a displeased look. “My mother only wants what’s best for me. And understandably, she’s concerned.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed to refrain. “What the hell is she concerned about?”

“She doesn’t want me making a spectacle of myself!”

Harry tried to contain his supreme irritation. “Your parents can’t control you, Draco. You don’t belong to them.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Who do I belong to, then?”

Harry was about to say no one, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew what he wanted to say, instead. But could he?

“Me?”

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me, or telling me, Potter?”

“Which will get you to say yes?" 

His heart pounded in his ears as he watched Draco’s face for the answer. He was aware his hand was still on Draco’s thigh, and he squeezed ever so slightly.

Eyes darkening, Draco slowly leaned forward. “Remember what you said one time in a letter? You told me you wanted to…” His lips stretched into a lewd grin. “To kiss me somewhere... that was not my mouth?”

Fuck. The image flooded his brain and his cock immediately took interest. Of course he remembered. Not only that, but he’d had many wank fantasies regarding that very act in the days that followed. Whatever else they’d been talking about seemed to dash out the window as soon as Draco brought it up.

His voice came out rough. “I remember.”

Draco’s grin remained firmly in place as he lowered his voice even further. “I think you should show me who I really belong to.”

Harry liked that idea very, very much. It felt like all his blood rushed south at once. He would fuck Draco right there on this table if he could.

“Where can we go?” he asked, his mind rapidly thinking about where Ron might be at this time. Would their room be available?

“Blaise sleeps in on Sundays, so mine’s out. Besides, I’m not keen to go back up there just now. Not after this morning’s fucking mess.”

Ah, right, it was likely there’d be people in the eighth year common room, and people were nosy. There was no way that morning’s news hadn’t made its way across the entire school by now. He and Draco would undoubtedly be subjected to all manner of stares and whispers and gossip. Harry was well-acquainted enough with this kind of thing to know how it usually went. He, too, would like to avoid people as much as possible.

“I know where to go,” Harry said, thinking of the place he usually liked to go to be alone.

For the second time that day, they made their way to the Quidditch pitch. It was maddening walking side by side with Draco, knowing what they were going to get up to. Harry didn’t look at him the whole way, the air tense between them.

When they got to the locker rooms, Harry led Draco to through to the weight room.

“I usually come here when I want to get away from everyone,” he said, watching Draco run his hand over the weight rack.

“I remember when we trained here.” Draco blew out a breathe. “Playing Quidditch for Slytherin. That feels like years ago now.”

“It was years ago.”

Draco lifted his head. As his eyes roamed Harry’s body, the nostalgia on his face left and he pinned Harry with a predatory stare. “We’re not the same kids we used to be.”

Harry shrugged, making his way over to him. “You’re still the same git,” he said as he grabbed Draco’s waist.

Draco opened his mouth to say something back when Harry pulled him into a kiss. Draco’s breath left him, his body melting against Harry’s as he drove his tongue into Harry’s mouth. As they continued to snog, Harry walked Draco backward until the back of his knees hit a lifting bench.

Harry ran his hands down Draco’s sides until he reached his jeans, and then wasted no time undoing them. As he fell to his knees, he brought Draco’s jeans down with him. Draco had little choice but to sit down on the bench as Harry continued to pull his jeans fully off his legs.

Draco sat there in his fitted t-shirt and zip-up hoodie, and just his tight boxers. There was already a large bulge in them, the outline of his cock pressing against the thin material.

Seeing Draco’s excitement made Harry even harder. He unbuttoned his own jeans and reached in to pull his cock out, exhaling roughly as he gave it a few good firm strokes. He was already pretty hard, getting moreso by the second.

Draco’s eyes were glued to Harry’s cock. “Have you ever done this before, Potter?”

Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was referring to eating arse or fucking arse, but either way, the answer was the same. “No.”

“You mean to tell me, I’ll be your first?”

Harry stilled. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, Potter, you don’t understand.” Draco’s eyes became dark and stormy with lust. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“Oh.” Harry internally sighed in relief. “Why, have you?”

“Of course,” Draco drawled.

It had never occurred to him before, but he suddenly realised he hated the idea of other people touching Draco. Harry hadn’t even so much as kissed a bloke before this year. There was no way he was going to be good at any of this, at least not enough to impress Draco if he was more experienced.

In fact, it spurred him on. He resolved to do his absolute fucking best to please Draco, in any way he could.

Harry ran his hands up Draco’s thighs and slid his fingers along the waistband of his boxers. His skin was so soft across his abdomen. Harry rubbed his thumbs into the trail of blond hair that traveled down past the waistband.

He looked Draco in the eye. “You’re going to have to show me what to do.”

Draco let out another soft groan. “Oh, I will.”

“So…” Harry said. “I’m assuming these have to come off.” He slowly pulled on Draco’s boxers.

“At least you know that much.” Draco assisted him in removing them completely, and then shrugged off his hoodie. “It’s a good start.”

Draco’s cock stood up, long and pink, pointing right in Harry’s face. Even though it was beautiful and he wanted to lick it, Harry had his mind set on something else.

“And now,” he said, “perhaps you should lie down.”

“I could… or I can turn around.” Draco’s voice was breathy and low. “Either way works, it just depends how you want me.”

Harry thought about it, tried to visualize both, and both sounded immensely appealing. But there was one option that made his cock nearly spasm at the thought.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice gruff.

With a slight flush to his cheeks and a cheeky smirk, Draco stood up from the bench. He turned and swung one leg over, lying down on his stomach.

Harry got up, too, and walked to the end of the bench, from where he could see Draco’s arse spreading open.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

He sank down on one knee again so that he could get a better look, and he gripped Draco’s thighs in both hands. “Move down,” he said, pulling his arse closer to the edge of the bench.

Draco shifted until his arse was almost hanging off the end, his balls pressed into the wooden surface and his cock trapped underneath his body.

Harry placed his palms one each cheek and spread them open.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said again at the sight of Draco’s pink arsehole. His cock was definitely hard now. He wanted this; he wanted to stick his cock in this; he wanted to fuck this. The urge was taking over his brain. It was bizarre to think this was really happening, when the only time he had seen gay sex had been in dirty magazines, whether wizarding or Muggle. It had made him so hot to look at and think about, and the fact that he was here now, with Draco, was almost overwhelming.

“Like what you see?” Draco asked, looking back over his shoulder and making his back arch as a result.

“Hell, yes.”

Harry brushed his thumb over the rim, and Draco shivered. His entrance was warm and puckered, and he felt the muscles tighten under his thumb as he continued to touch it.

He had only fingered himself one time, and it had been a totally failed experiment. He hadn’t been able to get the right angle, and he didn’t enjoy the sting of a finger, even coated in his spit and pre-come, entering him too deeply. But one thing he had liked was rubbing the outside of his entrance as he wanked.

He leaned his face in and spit, then rubbed his thumb in a circle around Draco’s rim.

Draco groaned. “ _Ung_ , that’s...that’s…”

“Good?” Harry asked hopefully.

“...torturous.”

A corner of Harry lips rose. He wondered how much better it would feel if he…

He removed his thumb and leaned in again. Tentatively, he flicked his tongue against Draco’s entrance. When Draco let out another pleased sound, Harry did it again, and again. Before he knew it, he was licking full stripes over Draco’s rim as he held his cheeks apart with both hands.

This was better than he imagined it. He loved being able to wring such pleasurable noises from Draco’s throat. He loved having Draco underneath him, writhing in frustration and trying to grind his cock against the bench for relief.

Harry fully pressed his lips to Draco’s arsehole and kissed it, the gentle suction sending Draco into a frenzy.

“Fuck me,” Draco breathed. “Just fuck me, please.”

Harry grinned, replacing his mouth with his fingers. He dragged his fingertips over the rim teasingly. “Already asking for it?”

“I’m begging for it, Potter.”

Harry’s gut roared with desire. “Damn. Say it again.” He pressed one fingertip past the ring of muscle, relishing the way it clenched around him. If that’s what it was going to do to his cock… He shut his eyes and breathed.

“Please,” Draco said, his voice strained from the intrusion. “Fuck me.”

“You mean, you want more than this?” Harry pushed his finger in further. It was aided by his saliva, but he should probably pick up his wand right about now and cast a Lubricus.

“Yes,” Draco said. “I want more… Bigger.”

Harry removed his finger. Grabbing his wand with his other hand, Harry hastily cast the lubricating charm. When he replaced his finger, Draco hissed against the cold slickness coating it.

“Put in two,” Draco demanded.

Harry complied, slipping in his middle finger alongside the first. Draco’s arse stretched to accommodate it, sucking both fingers in greedily. Harry pushed them in and out, feeling how tight he was and wondering how his cock would ever fit. He realized that watching Draco’s arsehole stretch around his girth, taking it in, was something he was eagerly looking forward to.

He pulled his fingers out and took up his cock, spreading it with the slickness left on his palm. Then he lined up the head with Draco’ arse.

Draco was clutching the sides of the bench above his head, clenching his teeth.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded into the bench.

With a deep breath, Harry pressed his cock against his entrance as slowly as possible, careful not to push it in too hard.

“I’m not going to break, Potter! Put it in.”

A chuckle bubbled up in Harry’s chest. “Are you sure, Malfoy?”

“Just fuck me,” he said, his voice strained with a pleading note.

“If you say so.”

Harry pushed his hips further. Draco gasped, his knuckles white where he clutched the edges of the bench. But Harry kept going, pressing his cock into him further, and then further, until eventually he was fully enveloped in Draco’s arse. His muscles squeezed Harry’s shaft, making him lightheaded for a moment. Damn, it felt incredible.

“Move,” Draco whined. “I want…”

Harry squeezed his hips. “What do you want? Say it.”

“I want more.”

With a grunt, Harry pulled out and pushed back into him. “Like that?”

“Yeah. Harder.”

Draco’s insistence was so fucking hot, it was making his head spin. He wanted more, did he? Well, Harry had no problem giving it to him.

He slid in and out again, hissing at how amazing it felt. His entire body was sizzling with the desire for more. After another few more rolls of his hips, he settled into a steady rhythm, in and out, and in and out. Draco arched his back into it.

“You like getting fucked, don’t you?” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Fucking love it.”

“Uh, yes. God. I love it.”

His legs were getting tired and he realized he couldn’t keep going at this angle. He had to lean onto the bench with one arm, which brought his body on top of Draco’s. He tried to keep ahold of Draco’s hips with his other hand, but it was impossible to balance that way. So he had to put both hands on the bench on either side of Draco, pressing his chest to Draco’s back.

The heightened intimacy of the position went straight through Harry, flooding him with emotions he couldn’t deny any longer. He didn’t just want to fuck Draco. He wanted to own him. To make him his.

What had Draco said: _Show me who I really belong to._

Harry was able to fuck him harder from this position, pounding into him with the force of his desire.

“You’re mine, Draco,” he breathed, shutting his eyes and fucking him over and over.

Draco panted and whined underneath him.

“Say it.”

With a gasp, Draco let it out. “I’m yours. Just yours, Potter.”

“ _Harry._ Say it.”

Draco hesitated, grunting against the renewed fervor of Harry’s movements.

“I’m yours, Harry.”

Harry groaned. “Say it again.”

Draco exhaled. “Yours, Harry. All yours.”

It didn’t take long after that for Harry’s stomach to clench, signaling his impending climax. It washed over him before he knew it, Draco’s words ringing in his ears.

Draco’s arse massaged his cock as his own orgasm assaulted him, his muscles clenching tightly as he came.

It seemed to take them forever to catch their breaths, and they laid there together just breathing for long moments. Draco’s back was hot and sticky with perspiration, so Harry rose off him to give him some air. In the process, his over-sensitized cock slipped from Draco’s arse, and he hissed at the sensation.

“What are you doing to me, Potter?” Draco said, lifting himself off his stomach. “I’m a mess.”

Harry chuckled, unsure if he was talking about his life or the fact that his arse was leaking Harry’s come. Which was a sight Harry never realized he would find so deeply appealing.

“What happened to Harry?”

Draco turned to look at him, his face pink and smirking. “You got it out of me at my weakest point.” 

That made Harry chuckle again. He resolved to get it out of Draco again as many times as he could, until Draco wanted to say _Harry_ every day of his life.

They cast cleaning charms and Draco pulled on his trousers. Harry hadn’t even gotten undressed, so he merely tucked himself away into his jeans.

He followed Draco out of the locker room and into the cool air of the pitch. He didn’t realize how refreshing the autumn air was. It nipped at his face and cleared his head.

As they walked back up the path, Harry reached for Draco’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Draco whipped his hand away.

“I don’t care who sees us.”

What did it matter, anyways? What did that article matter? He began to realize it didn’t. He wanted to be with Draco, and he wanted everyone to know.

“I don’t really give a damn what anyone thinks,” Harry said. “What’s the point in pretending we’re not together when we are?”

Draco pressed his lips together, blushing on the high points of his cheeks. He didn’t speak for a few moments, only stared at Harry with a sense of misery Harry could see in his eyes.

Harry stepped closer to him, his heart pounding. “We are… Right?”

A heavy, sick feeling settled into Harry’s stomach when Draco didn’t respond.

After everything they’d just done, Harry couldn’t hear Draco say he didn’t actually want to be together. He didn’t want to hear him say it was not that serious, or that they probably shouldn’t, or whatever excuse he could tell was hanging off Draco’s lips.

Everything Harry had said about wanting Draco to be his, he had meant it.

When he had waited too long for a reply that never came, Harry turned and walked back to the castle.


	9. Chapter 9

For the next few weeks, Hermione helped Draco work out the magic behind the Marauder’s Map. They sat in the common room together, heads bowed over the old piece of parchment, trying to figure out what made it tick. They worked surprisingly well together, bouncing ideas off each other and doing all kinds of research in the library. They spent every single evening on it, holed up with books and essays on location charms, tracking spells, and magical map theory. They stayed up so late sometimes, Hermione came to breakfast one day yawning and spread strawberry jam onto her fried eggs.

Harry tried not to watch them work, as it made him feel angry and sick at the same time. Ron was a blessing of a friend to keep him distracted in the evenings while Draco and Hermione took over the common room. They played Quidditch together, visited with Bill, and even hung out with Neville and Goyle one afternoon preparing Sprout’s gardens for the winter.

Ron didn’t ask him much about what happened between him and Draco, and Harry was honestly grateful for it. His strategy for dealing with his emotions was to push them aside as forcefully as possible and hope they went away eventually. Which was probably not the healthiest method, but he was arsed if he was going to talk about his feelings.

It was the day before Christmas holidays, and they still hadn’t been able to alter the map to locate Matilda’s Body. Hermione was beginning to think they wouldn’t figure it out and that they would have to wait until break was over to resume trying.

“I just don’t know how they did it,” Hermione said of the Marauders. “I swear, Malfoy and I have exhausted every option we’ve found. It’s impossible.”

“I wonder if George can figure it out,” Ron said. “I should bring it to him over Christmas. He and George were always good at figuring out odd or rare magic.”

“That’s a great idea,” Hermione said.

They were in Harry’s room where he and Ron were packing their trunks for the train tomorrow morning. Hermione was sitting on Ron’s bed.

“Where’s the map now?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy has it.” Hermione snuck a glance at Harry. “I told him Harry might want it back over the holidays…”

“He can keep it.” Harry stuffed a pair of socks into the corner of his trunk. “Let him fiddle with it all he wants.”

Just then, the door burst open and Draco came running through. He was holding the unfolded map in one hand and waving it around as he walked. He stopped dead when he saw Harry.

His blond hair was all over the place and there were slight shadows under his eyes—clearly, he was losing sleep over this as well. He cleared his throat, turning away from Harry and focusing on Hermione.

“I’ve got it.”

Hermione sprang up from Ron’s bed. “What?”

“I’ve done it. The dots, they… they’re all different now.”

Hermione rushed over to him. “Let me see.” She took the map from his hands. After scanning it, she took a sharp breath.

Curious, Harry walked over to her and peered over her shoulder.

The map looked exactly the same, outlining the castle and its grounds exactly the same way. However, the dots were much fewer. And they were stationary.

Usually the dots would be drifting all over the place as the people they depicted moved about the castle. There was constant movement, as if the map itself was somehow alive.

But now, nothing moved.

The map seemed empty. It was less populated than before. There were not many dots in the castle, but the grounds were littered with them. In one corner by the forbidden forest, three dots lay clustered together. In the forest itself, dots were scattered here and there; people who had met unfortunate deaths at the hands of the dangerous creatures who lived there. In a far area of the map, there was so many dots laid out in a neat little pattern, it was most definitely an old grave site. Harry wondered how old it must be for the tombstones to no longer be there. He had never noticed any graves at Hogwarts. Save for one.

Harry searched for a particular dot, located by the Great Lake.

“Albus Dumbledore,” he read, staring at the name and the black dot that represented his body. He turned to Draco, addressing him for the first time in weeks. “How did you do this?”

Draco held his gaze. “With Granger’s calculations.”

“You mean,” Hermione said, “you tested my theory from yesterday?”

Draco nodded. “It panned out. You were right about the tracking spell. It had to be manipulated from the correct angle.”

“But when I tried it—”

“I applied it by pluralizing the incantation.”

Hermione let out a rush of breath. “I can’t believe it. This is brilliant.”

“So did you find her body?” Ron said.

Harry and Hermione turned to Draco, who pressed his lips together.

“Yes.”

 

><

 

 

The dot that read Matilda Weatherstaff was located on the seventh floor in a room that seemed to exist outside the perimeter of the castle itself. Harry had a feeling he knew which room that was. They all did. They walked up together in silence, Draco holding the map.

When they reached the spot where the Room of Requirement usually appeared, they all stopped and turned toward it. At first, it remained a blank expanse of wall, but in mere moments, the door manifested before them. It even creaked open an inch, as if it knew they were there and it was inviting them in. They had all been wishing strongly for the same room.

Harry went to the door first and prepared to pushed it open. Hermione and Ron were right behind him, but he noticed Draco was not.

Draco stared at the room with wide eyes, his fingers trembling where he clutched the map.

“You know what this means, right?” he said, his voice hollow.

Hermione ran to him, putting a hand on his back. “It's alright, Draco”

“No, it’s not. She was here when…” His voice broke. He shut his eyes and then opened them again. “I know how she died. “ He turned to Harry. “Remember what Nearly Headless Nick said he found out from her friends? That she liked to escape by walking around the seventh floor. We should have known what that meant then. We both know the room is here.”

It all made sense to Harry, and he was struck by the horror of it. A terrible wave of sadness passed through him, settling in his chest.

“The day of battle,” Harry said, “she was scared, so she came to the place she usually came to hide. It’s why she didn’t leave with the other first years. She was already hiding up here and didn’t know they were leaving the castle at all.” Then softly, he added, “She must have been here when Crabbe set the fire.”

Hermione put her hand over her mouth as a soft cry escaped. Ron’s face turned pale.

There was only one way to find out. Harry turned back to the door and, slowly, pushed the it open.

The odour of burned things hung heavy in the air. Harry took a step inside and his footsteps picked up a cloud of ash. He lit his wand with a Lumos.

“Don’t cast any other spells,” he told the others, who followed him. “We don’t know how spells will react to the Fiendfyre residue.” He had been paying attention in class to what Bill had been saying about his experience dealing with Dark Magic.

As they walked through the rubble, an eerie silence seemed to reverberate through the room. It was like the mountains of ash—all the charred remains from the Room of Hidden Things—sucked in all sound and held it prisoner in a black hole. It truly did feel like a gravesite.

Draco’s face was blanched as he gaped around the room, his skin pale as a ghost against the charcoal backdrop of the ashy surroundings. Harry’s heart hurt to look at him. Was he thinking of Crabbe? He had worn a similar expression at Crabbe’s funeral; one of bewilderment and horror, as if he couldn’t quite believe where he was. Harry wanted to go to him and grab his hand, and to whisper in his ear that it was going to be okay. But his heart gave another lurched when he remembered he wasn’t welcome. Draco wasn’t his to comfort, even though just weeks ago, Draco had said otherwise.

He hated Draco for putting him through this, and he hated himself for loving Draco in the first place.

And then it hit him all at once: he loved Draco.

Harry watched Draco as he took in the room with wide, grey eyes—back in the place that caused him so much obvious grief, trying to do something good for a girl he didn’t know, even though it killed him inside. And Harry realized he truly loved him. Deeply and desperately. He had never been so in love with anyone in his life, and it felt so right that he wondered if he had actually been in love with Draco for much longer than he knew.

“Are you okay?” he managed to grit out, his voice grainy.

Draco looked at him with mournful eyes, nodding imperceptibly. He pulled up the map again and studied it, before pointing down one path in the fork in the road.

“She should be down here.”

Draco led them down the path between two mountains of charred debris. In a few yards, he stopped.

Harry gazed around the expanse of nothingness. “What are we looking at?”

“This is where she should be.” Draco swallowed, staring at the ground.

“There’s nothing there,” Ron said.

“Fiendfyre burns through bones,” Hermione clarified. “Normal fire always leaves something behind, like bones or teeth. But not cursed fire.”

“So,” Ron said slowly, “her body is just… that bit there?” He pointed to a pile of ashes in a conspicuously long shape.

They stared at her remains for a long time. The tomb-like silence pressed against Harry’s ears. The only sound was Hermione’s sniff when she eventually had to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

“Well,” Draco said, heaving a sigh, “let’s get her back.”

From a pocket in his robes, he pulled a glass jar with a crew-on lid. He got down on one knee, reaching out with his bare hands, and scooping up as much ash as he could. He kept doing it until he had filled the jar, then recapped it.

Hermione took out her wand. “Let me clean you up,” she said, pointing it at his palms.

“No.” Draco put the jar back into his pocket. “My hands have been dirty for a long time. A few more minutes won’t hurt. I have one more body to bring back.”

He reached into the other side of his robes and pulled out another empty jar.

“He was over there,” he said, walking back toward the entrance. “I remember the spot clearly.”

It was the place Crabbe had fallen in the fire. Draco consulted the map one more time and, sure enough, Crabbe’s name was in the spot he had navigated to. How had Harry missed it?

Draco filled Crabbe’s jar, too. “This can go to his mother. At least part of him will have returned.”

As they left the room, Harry knew it was the last time he would ever step foot in it. He hoped it was the last time anyone did. Part of the remains of Matilda Weatherstaff and Vincent Crabbe co-mingled with the rest of the soot; it was their final resting place. As they shut the door to the Room of Requirement, Harry kept his palm against the wooden door panel for a long moment, making one last wish. He hoped the room could sense his desire that it should guard the hidden things inside forever, revealing them to no one else for as long as it should stand.

 

><

 

 

As they approached the tapestry that led to the eighth year common room, Hermione stopped them.

“Look!”

Harry squinted at the colourful scene before him. “Someone’s replaced the tapestry?”

“No!” Hermione said. “It’s… it’s changed itself.”

The large embroidered fabric, once covered in bare vines all dotted with thorns, was completely different. All of the sudden, there were blooms. Bright red and pink roses in the most breathtaking pattern, covering the thorns and the bleak background in a riot of life.

“Magical tapestries change all the time,” Draco said, shrugging one shoulder.

All three of them turned to him.

“Didn’t you know that?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s common knowledge. At least Weasley should have known.”

“I don’t give two fucks about tapestries,” Ron said. “Or anything embroidered or knit or sewed or—”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said. “But, how does it work? We were trying to figure it out because…” She trailed off, sneaking a look at Harry. She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m dying to know, truthfully!”

“I’ll ask him,” Harry said. “Alone.”

Draco looked between the two of them, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Hermione and Ron approached the tapestry and it rolled up, revealing the door. They stepped through it, shooting twin looks behind them.

“What do you want to ask me?” Draco said. “How tapestries work?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore his pulse spiking. “Well, Hermione wasn’t able to figure it out. So it’s kind of this big mystery to all of us.”

Draco shook his head. “You three are the oddest people…” He made to leave, and Harry caught his elbow. Draco tensed instantly.

“The thing is,” Harry said, pulling Draco back to face him, “we were wondering about one tapestry in particular.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Harry was aware he was still holding onto Draco’s arm. He wasn’t going to let him go. “It has everything to do with you.”

Draco licked his lips. “Potter… what are you saying?”

“In Grimmauld Place, the house Walburga Black lived in, she has a tapestry of the Black Family Tree. All the family lines are embroidered on it, and the tapestry adds to itself as people marry into the family or have children. Sirius was on there, until he left the family and was disowned. Andromeda, your mother’s sister, was on there, until she married a Muggleborn. You’re on there, Draco. Until… this summer.”

Draco blinked. “What?”

“Your name is charred off. Just like the others.”

Realization passed over Draco’s face, his eyes widening.

“It means the tapestry—or its magic–determined you should be disowned from the family. Draco… what did you do?”

“Potter, I…” His voice was soft and low, almost inaudible. “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

“Why not?” Harry gripped Draco’s other elbow, pulling him close. It was the nearest they’d been physically in almost a month. He was assaulted by the familiar scent of Draco’s cologne, and yearning hit him square in the gut. “ _Please_.” He gritted the words out, but he wasn’t sure he was asking about the tapestry anymore.

It wasn’t fair that Draco had avoided him for weeks. That Harry’d had to watch him from afar, yet again, only this time with the knowledge of what his obsession meant.

“You went back to giving me the cold shoulder,” Harry said, trying but unable to keep a thread of bitterness from his voice. “I think I deserve to know why.”

Draco grabbed him right back at the waist, wrapping his fists in Harry’s t-shirt. “If I make this real…”

“It’s already real, Draco. I meant every word I said when I fucked you.”

A tortured sigh escaped Draco’s throat. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

“Lucky you. I think about it every night.”

“You’re killing me, Potter.”

“Good.” Harry ran his hands up Draco’s arms. “Then you’ll know how I feel.”

Draco shook his head. “This is so…”

“Real?”

A smile pulled Draco’s lips. Those infuriating lips that started it all. “I was going to say intense, but yes.” He exhaled. “It’s so real. Potter, I can’t know for sure what made the tapestry want to disown me. But I have an idea… It’s possible that, over the summer, I started having thoughts that were…” He huffed a dry little laugh. “Let’s just say, they’d definitely be considered a betrayal of the family.”

“What do you mean?” Harry continued to run his hands up and down Draco’s arms, relishing in the opportunity to touch him. He didn’t know if he would get this chance again. “What kind of thoughts were you having?”

So Hermione was right: even just thinking something against the family was enough to trigger the tapestry’s magic. It was insane, but could he expect anything less of the crazy Blacks? They were all certifiably mad, weren’t they?

“If I tell you,” Draco said, “you have to promise not to be scared off.”

Harry shook his head. “I won’t be. I swear.”

“Alright. Like I said, I can’t know for sure this is it, but I suspect it’s because…” Draco swallowed. He barely moved his lips as he said it. “I love you.”

Harry stood there, staring at him, unsure he had heard correctly. It couldn’t have been what he’d actually said. “I’m sorry… what?”

Draco clenched his jaw. “You heard me, Potter.”

“No, I didn’t. I can’t have. Say it again.”

“I… love you.”

Harry was glad he was holding onto Draco, because he might have melted into the ground otherwise. “You do?”

“Potter, I’ve been in love with you all my life.” Suddenly, the words came flooding out of him, like he was finally able to say something he had scarcely admitted even to himself. “I only realized it after the Battle. In the fire, actually. When you came back for me. As I was flying on the back of your broom, holding onto you. You came back for me, and you pulled me from the fire, Potter. You… you saved me, for the hundredth time. And I thought, ‘I love him’.”

Harry’s throat tightened. There was no more air in the hallway, or perhaps in the world.

“And then when you were dead…” Draco’s voice broke. “Or whatever you were. I died inside, a bit. More than a bit. And I realized, then, it was real. I was in love with Harry Potter. Undesirable Number One. The Chosen One. The fucking saviour of the wizarding world. And I was doomed.”

“Draco.” Harry gripped his face in both hands.

“I can’t be in love with the chosen one.”

“I can’t be in love with a Death Eater.”

Draco inhaled sharply. “You’re not.”

“Draco…”

“You can’t be.” Draco was shaking his head.

Harry held his face steady. His heart beat against his chest as he said, clearly and honestly, “I love you.”

Then he kissed him, joining their lips for the first time in what felt like years. The flood of butterflies almost knocked him over. It was just as he remembered, and better. Kissing Draco made his entire body light up with life.

When they parted, Harry was still rubbing his thumbs across Draco’s jawline. He found there was something he still needed to know.

“Why did you break it off before?” he demanded.

Draco frowned. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think it was more than a sex thing for you. Getting me on my knees to thank you for being a big, strong man, and all that.”

Despite the gravity of the moment, a searing heat whipped through Harry and went straight to his cock.

“I do sort of like that,” Harry admitted, grinning cheekily.

“I know you do.” Draco smirked. “And perhaps… I do, too.”

“But it’s so much more than that,” Harry insisted.

Draco pulled Harry’s hands away from his cheeks, bringing them down to his side. But this time, he didn’t let go of Harry’s hand.

They walked through the door to the common room together, the blooming tapestry unrolling in their wake.

When they got into the room, they were greeted by the entire eighth year class, staring at them from their seats. Ron and Hermione rose from the sofa and approached them, slowing their steps only when they spotted their joined hands. Hermione’s eyes sparkled and a smile pulled her lips. Ron’s mouth dropped completely open.

Zabini, who was sitting with an arm around Lavender, winked at them. Pansy and Millicent turned to each other and started giggling. Neville and Goyle exchanged Galleons, clearly having had some sort of bet. Seamus and Dean stared with shocked looks similar to Ron’s. Even Smith, who had kept a wide berth of Harry since the chipped tooth thing, was peering at them with curiosity.

Draco probably wasn’t ready to hold hands in public, seeing as how he’d reacted before. Harry didn’t want him to freak out again, not now that he had just got him back, so he tried to take his hand away. But it wasn’t working. Draco was holding onto it with an iron grip.

He turned to Draco, about to ask him what he was doing, when he saw the grin on Draco’s face. The radiance in it took Harry’s breath away.

Placing his other hand on Harry’s chest, and sending warm shivers through Harry, Draco leaned into his ear.

“You’re mine, Potter. And I want everyone to know it.”

To Harry’s absolute shock and delight, Draco’s mouth met his, kissing him possessively and urgently as if they were all alone. Except, this kiss was for everyone to see.

As his mind buzzed with happiness, he almost didn’t hear the cheers.  


 

 

 

 

_A teeny epilogue…_

They each took a long, hot shower… Together. They locked the door to the boy’s bathroom and didn’t give a fuck who needed to come in. It was theirs for the next hour, at least. Luckily, no one disturbed them as they fucked against the tiled wall of the shower stall.

Hermione and Draco didn’t put the Marauder’s Map back to rights just yet, because they resolved that, when they they got back from holiday, they would use it to locate all the bodies left at Hogwarts and return them to their families.

Draco packed the glass jars away in his trunk and said he would send them to their respective families before Christmas. Harry wondered what happened to Matilda’s ghost, and he asked Nearly Headless Nick during breakfast, before the train left. Nick said he had been passing through the East Wing this morning and hadn’t seen Matilda anywhere, her little stone house lying empty. It gave Harry a spark of hope that, now that her remains were found, her ghost could move on. He and Draco resolved to look for her again when they returned, and find out for sure.

As for them, they kissed one more time before parting for the hols. Harry almost didn’t want to go to the Burrow, and part of him wishing he could just stay at Hogwarts with Draco instead. He was all Harry wanted for Christmas, anyway.

But Draco had to be with his mother, whom he couldn’t allow to spend Christmas alone. And as it was the first Christmas after the war, Harry couldn’t actually bring himself to leave the Weasley’s. So, they would have to wait.

But in the meantime, they promised to write each other.

And Draco started all his letters with _Harry_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to contact me, find me on tumblr at [@heyitsamorette](https://heyitsamorette.tumblr.com/).


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